


Clouded Mirror

by palomino333



Series: Welcome to the NWR [3]
Category: Thomas the Tank Engine & Friends, Thomas the Tank Engine - All Media Types
Genre: 1960s, Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Animal Death, Attempted Murder, Bad Parenting, Brother-Sister Relationships, Brothers, Child Abandonment, Drinking, Extortion, Flashbacks, Fortune Telling, Multi, Older Man/Younger Man, Partying, Past Child Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Ableism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Robbery, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2020-03-19 12:11:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 61,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18969034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palomino333/pseuds/palomino333
Summary: Companion piece to "Steam and Shadows." “What’s this make Sodor then, a place for runaways?” James sorts out a few personal demons as tensions on the rails begin to rise.





	1. Chapter 1

"Edward, make up your mind!" Duke exclaimed, his speech slurred as he waved his hand of cards around, "We haven't all night!"

"Patience, Duke," he replied quietly, scanning over his own hand. The night sky shown through a curtained window in Trevor's kitchen, the table illuminated by a lantern placed on the middle of it. Around it were four glasses, with beer bottles and a jug of sake on the table. Smoke trailed from the ashtray, Duke and Trevor's spent cigarettes in them. Hiro contemplatively smoked his pipe.

Edward knew that James was bound to complain about the smell upon his return home, but it didn't bother him so much. James, after all, knew that it was Edward's night out, and didn't contest it. Duke was tipsy first, which was to be expected. He had trouble holding his liquor. It was easier to win against him. Hiro was, by contrast, less easy, and Edward suspected that the man had a good hand. Rounding out the group was Trevor, who was lighting another cigarette, his cards face down on the table.

Duke snorted. "Patience for what, old man? You aren't thinking, that's for certain! That noggin of yours is as hollow as a bucket when you're on the drink!"

"Well done, Duke, you have mastered the art of the pot calling the kettle back," Trevor commented, picking his cards up.

"I can hold me liquor!" He yelled in annoyance, indicating himself with a thumb jabbed into his chest.

Edward smiled, and selected his card. "Here." The others groaned as he lay down the queen of hearts. "Another game?" He inquired, collecting his winnings from the table.

"We do have time for one more," Trevor agreed with a yawn, "After that, this old codger will need his sleep."

"I will deal," Hiro decided, gathering the cards and shuffling them, "Perhaps with some luck, I will turn the tide."

"You think well of yourself, don't you, Hiro?" Duke grumbled.

Hiro smiled indulgently. "My reputation pervades me."

Licking his thumb, Trevor picked through his hand. "This is where your true colors come out, now that the liquor's loosened your tongue, Hiro."

"I am the master of the railway," he replied, "Nevertheless, it is good fun."

"Such as when I beat you, you old fool!" Duke exclaimed, yelling a card down with a self-satisfied smile.

Edward raised an eyebrow. "Duke, I don't mean to criticize, but you do realize that is a two, correct?"

"A two? What?! It's a ten, plain as day!" He pointed at the card for emphasis.

Trevor and Edward exchanged a glance before chuckling. Hiro gave a gentle smile, taking a glass away from Duke. "Perhaps that is enough of the sake."

Chuckling, Edward laid down a card, continuing the round. "To be honest, Hiro, we'll need it to get through the night."

"I'm the great Duke of Sodor, and don't you all forget it!" Duke exclaimed, raising up on Edward's back to hold out his arms. With a gasp, Edward stumbled backwards, prompting Trevor to catch him. Drunkenly, Duke began to sing, "I got me a treasure, safe and sound, got me an engine far underground! Old granpuff's still ready to go, soon as Sir Handel and Peter Sam say so!"

The sheep ran away at Duke's voice, with Terence, bearing a shepherd's crook, staring after them. Trevor shrugged at him. "The kids come in all sizes, these days."

Terence laughed, holding out the crook. "I think you need this more than me."

Grasping it, Trevor playfully swung it toward Edward, who ducked his head. Duke burped and swiped at the air. "Oh no, you don't! I got fists, and I'm not afraid to use them!"

"Don't encourage him," Edward groaned, standing back fully up. Glancing at Hiro, he sighed. "Your turn."

Hiro nodded, kneeling to the ground. Bouncing Duke on his back, he continued along. Duke threw his head back, and sang, "Oh my dear Betty, she was so divine, I took her hand, and called her mine. She was worried, we had no plan. I told her, 'Don't fear, pet, we'll marry in my van!' Next morning, I had a pounding in my head. The controller grabbed me ankle, and pulled me out of bed!"

"Oh no, he's added verses!" Edward lamented, putting a hand to his temple, and closing his eyes.

Hiro smiled. "For what's worth, he's sounding closer to on key than before."

"Must be the sake," Trevor commented, "The beer seems to make him worse."

Hiro's smile broadened at the praise, and Edward pretended to be outraged. "Well, we've found the bad influence!" He scowled at Hiro.

Hiro, not to be dissuaded, replied, "It's a two-way street, my friend."

Edward smiled at that. "Well then, best we return before the police take us home."

Under the same sky, James yawned as he left the locker room alongside Henry. "They don't pay me enough to haul around goods trains all day. It makes my engine look classless."

Henry smirked. "You can always take the Flying Kipper again if you want, James. That's prestigious cargo."

He stuck his tongue out at the prospect. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'd rather not smell like I set up house inside of a dockside dumpster."

"Oh yes, and smelling like tar is certainly an improvement," Henry commented.

"Watch it," James replied sharply, holding up a finger.

Chuckling, Henry glanced away, waving a farewell to Rebecca as the young woman departed from her respective locker room, her bobbed hair under a slouch hat. She waved back, only to cut it off with a yawn into her hand. Under her arm was a newspaper. "You have a ride back, I gather?" Henry inquired.

Rebecca nodded. "Until I can learn to hold my eyes open in the late hours, I'll be relying on Emily's kindness for a little while."

Henry shook his head. "Don't regard it as that. We take care of our own."

"Sometimes," James added as a snarky aside, prompting Henry to nudge him.

Rebecca smiled at the exchange, and commented, "Not so bad for my first night run, I suppose."

"Regardless," Henry continued, "You'll be with me for a few more until you're experienced enough to go on your own." Lights shined sporadically over the three as they walked along. Duck's and Oliver's engines whistled as they passed by the station, the red light above the latter's brake van illuminating Toad as he filled out paperwork.

"I hope I'm progressing along well enough," Rebecca commented nervously.

"Relax, that's not what I meant," Henry comforted, "It's a standard procedure for new drivers after a few mishaps."

"Erm, did something happen?" Rebecca asked, glancing over at James.

"Nothing worth mentioning," he replied, dismissing it with a wave of the hand, and repressing the urge to step on Henry's foot.

Rebecca blinked at that, but said nothing, instead lifting the newspaper in her hands with a troubled expression. "Is this sort of thing common?" She handed it over to Henry, who held it up for James, as well, to scan the page. It was opinion piece that inquired as to whether the Fat Controller was behaving like a pimp in his hiring of more female drivers.

"We don't think that here," James replied bluntly, glancing up from it.

"Thank you, but I'm still concerned."

"About our reputation?" James glanced sidelong at her. "Between the crashes, as well as, ahem, other revelations, as of late, I don't think you have much to worry on, there."

"That aside," Henry folded the newspaper, and presented it back to her, "Their opinions shouldn't be your concern. You have a place here, with us."

Rebecca tilted her hat back on her head and gave a nod. "I'll see you tomorrow night, then." She walked off, her form receding into the darkness.

"Taking the new ones under your wing, Henry?" James commented.

Henry shrugged. "If she's assigned to me, I may as well."

James smiled at that. "You're moving up in the world. To be honest, I'd expect that of you."

"Beg your pardon?"

James chuckled, placing his hands on his hips and shaking his head. "Come now, do you think I'd have the patience to teach?"

Henry scoffed. "Rebecca is a one-time case. We have similarly sized engines. I doubt that I would be chosen for this sort of thing again. Edward's more cut out for it."

"Edward can't do everything," James pointed out, "He's already busy training Nia. With two more people on the team, someone was bound to get chosen."

"But me?" Henry questioned, his tone becoming more and more uncomfortable as he glanced about.

"Why not you?" James asked pointedly.

"I haven't the temperament," he replied quietly.

James raised an eyebrow. "It should be painfully obvious to you at this point, Henry. Were it not for you, half of the time Gordon and I would be biting each other's heads off."

"You were even when I was there," Henry pointed out.

"After the Kipper? Circumstances were different, then," James explained, "Gordon became more protective of you. I was also, to an extent, but he was more so." James chuckled. "Of course, it was our egos, but in retrospect, I think he didn't want a rival."

Henry stopped short, prompting James to look over his shoulder at him. "Come again?"

James smirked. "Oh, you would be surprised."

Henry's eyes widened as realization dawned on him. "So, Gordon thought that you and I…" As James's smirk broadened with amusement, Henry outright laughed. "To be completely honest with you, James, I don't know how Edward puts up with you, half the time. We certainly wouldn't have ended well together."

James rolled his eyes. "Agreed. I can't imagine how I'd want to spend my days with a hypochondriac who complains that his geraniums aren't receiving enough light." He gave Henry a soft punch, which Henry returned. Hopping around him, James sparred with him briefly, Henry winning by looping his arms under his, and squeezing them out of the way.

James chuckled as Henry let him go. "Same as always, you don't like to play fair."

"Oh, sure," Henry replied, giving him a slight shove, "I assume he took the news well, then."

James shrugged, gesturing for him to move along with him. "To be honest, we were both still quite concerned about you, at the time. Regardless, he didn't make mention of it again. Saving face, I guess."

"Well then, I suppose we can continue to do that for him," Henry agreed, changing the subject, "I've been thinking of taking up photography as a hobby. It'd be nice to catch the flora and fauna on film."

James held in a sigh, knowing where this was going. "But film's expensive."

Henry shrugged. "We can't always get what we want."

"Don't I know it," James grumbled, "Doesn't mean we have to accept it."

"That wasn't what I was inferring," Henry replied, "But, if anything I learned the hard way what it's like to have to come back to Earth."

James raised an eyebrow and stopped. "The Kipper changed you, you know."

Henry turned back to him. "Not quite. I made the choice to change. The difference lies there."

"Changing for a circumstance that was foisted upon you?" James put his hands in his pockets, "Sounds weak."

"Take from it what you will," he replied, "Now, it's best we be off. I want my dinner."

On the way home, Henry mulled over James's words. Not wanting to consider the implications of himself as a mentor, he gave thought to James's mention of Gordon's one-sided rivalry. It was preposterous, and he was surprised that Gordon would implement such a thing. Then again, he did have that dramatic sense to him.

The kitchen was dark when Henry entered it. Tossing his keys on the table, he groaned as he cracked out his neck. The note was still on the fridge, indicating that the leaking faucet had to get looked at. Money, it was always money. Removing a meal, wrapped in foil, from inside, Henry heated it over the stove, and turned his head to look over his shoulder. "Are you still awake, Gordon?"

"Yes, why?" A voice called faintly from upstairs.

Henry smiled, picking up his plate. "Rare occasion. We seem to only communicate through notes, these days."

"Best you not waste the opportunity, then," he called back down to him, a note of a challenge in his voice.

Following the faint lamplight up the stairs, Henry entered the main bedroom.

Gordon glanced up from where he sat in bed, a letter in his hands. A blanket was pulled about his waist. On the bedspread lay other letters. His blue gaze was slightly glazed from tiredness. Once the week ended, the current timetable of their shift difference would be completed. "He returns," Gordon commented.

Henry smiled, placing the plate upon the nearby desk, and taking the chair beside it. "Shouldn't you be asleep by now?"

"This has kept my attention," he explained, indicating the letter in hand, "Scott will be coming to visit soon, as the Flying Scotsman is due. I don't intend upon him staying here, but it's becoming more difficult to keep up the charade."

Henry swallowed, lowering his fork. "Is there anything I could do about that?"

"You, no," he replied firmly, "You're staying right here."

"I think I should have a say in that."

"There isn't a need for you to move out, just because Scott is coming," he explained plainly, "Nevertheless, word will reach him sooner or later in the marshaling yard." Henry thumped the side of his hand against the desk in irritation, and Gordon placed the letter down. "I haven't brought this up to order you about, Henry."

"Out with it, then," Henry said quietly, his fingers tapping on the desk.

Gordon folded his arms. "I intend to tell him the truth. I thought you wanted to know." Henry stopped tapping his fingers, caught off-guard. "It's the proper way to go about it, upon further reflection," he explained, reaching over to gather the letters together, and place them on the beside table. The desk chair squeaked across the floor, and footsteps sounded across it behind him.

The bed creaked under another weight that joined him, and a hand grasped his shoulder. He turned back around. "Is there something you wanted to discuss?" Gordon inquired.

Henry smiled. "No, nothing at all."

Gordon nodded at that. His breath caught, however, when Henry lowered his head to kiss his neck. "He-Henry!" He exclaimed in surprise. He groaned as Henry wrapped his arms about him. He was about to inquire when he felt Henry's tongue running over his neck. Hesitating, he choked on his words as he felt Henry beginning to press him down against the bed. Lifting a hand, he brushed at his partner's hair to get his attention. "Henry, what's gotten into you?"

"Is that a complaint?" Henry teased, glancing up at him sidelong.

Gordon sighed, knowing that he wasn't going to get an answer out of him. Reaching up, he grasped at Henry's shirt collar to unbutton it. "At least have the decency to undress yourself."

Henry grinned, glad to have been given his way. Gordon stroked along his neck, and Henry leaned back down, kissing along his collarbone. He gently began to undo the buttons of Gordon's pajama top, kissing along the warm, exposed flesh as he moved slowly downward. Teasingly, he kissed at his navel, and Gordon bit down against a chuckle. 

Gordon lowered Henry's suspenders, and Henry groaned appreciatively as his partner's fingers paused on his back to stroke at his spine. Henry buried his head in Gordon's bare chest, nuzzling against it. Gordon leaned forward to kiss the top of Henry's head.

Hnery lowered his head to hook his teeth around the waistband of Gordon's pajama bottoms, and drag them down, exposing his underwear. Henry rose partway up, and rubbed his palm in circles against his clothed cock. Gordon moaned, and squirmed as Henry dragged down his underwear.

Henry took Gordon into his mouth, and began to suck his cock, while grasping his shaft to drag his hand quickly up and down. Gordon bucked, and whined, keening against him. His nails dug into Henry's back, leaving deep impressions in the fabric. The whining, however, hit a strained note, and Henry immediately stopped, pulling himself off of him. 

Gordon glared up at him. "Henry, what on earth was that for?!" 

Henry sat on his knees before him, with Gordon's nails still digging into him. "You were in pain," he replied firmly. 

"I was bloody well not!" Gordon huffed, as if insulted by Henry's words.

Henry, however, didn't relent. "Stop fighting me, Gordon." Bringing the palms of his hands down on either side of the bed, he said, "You need to tell me if something isn't working. I don't want to harm you."

Gordon panted, and stared up at the fear, born out of genuine concern, on Henry's face. He gave a slight nod. "Slow down."

Henry nodded, and reached out to gently grasp and stroke Gordon's shaft, moving at a steady rhythm, and working him slowly toward a climax. Gordon moaned, and buried his head in his shoulder to stifle the noise as he came. Henry smiled at the blush on Gordon's cheeks, and lowered his shoulders in relief that the previous tension between them had passed.

Henry's suspenders dragged along the blanket as he rose slightly up on his knees to undo his pants.

Gordon fumbled in the bedside drawer, and pulled out a tube of lubricant to give to Henry, nearly dropping it while doing so. Henry thought of how he had looked before, on their first night. Gordon had been shaking from anticipation, having not had previous experience. Henry had been as patient with him as he could, given Gordon's prideful nature, and had his annoyances with him as a result. It was easier, now, though whenever he saw a shade of that anticipation, it gave him a sense of nostalgia.

"Doing all the work tonight?" Gordon asked as Henry slowly coated his cock, and stroked himself at the sight of him, half-dressed. 

Henry smirked as he coated his fingers, and slowly spread him, watching Gordon squirm and groan. "I don't see you complaining."

"Henry, shut up," he growled in anticipation. 

He could only oblige him. Grasping Gordon's buttocks, he slid into him slowly. Had it been a different night, when both of them weren't so tired, Henry would have gone faster, considering the amount of times that Gordon had shoved him up against the wall in the middle of heavy petting. At this point, however, Henry preferred to relax, kissing and murmuring endearments as he drove into him, drawing soft moans out of Gordon, and panting from the pleasure of it. "Love you," Henry whispered as Gordon grasped his hand to interlock their fingers. 

Gordon brushed back Henry's hair, which was plastered to his head by sweat. "Always, Henry." He rose up, his hand going around to the back of Henry's head to pull him down into a deep kiss. Henry growled into his mouth, and came. Gordon roughly held him to himself through the aftershocks, and kept him firmly anchored to the earth through all of it.

Henry collapsed on his chest with a groan, and lay upon him, his head under Gordon's chin as they breathed against one another, slowly recovering. Raising up slowly on his elbows, Henry kissed his forehead before slowly pulling out of him. Gordon reached behind himself, and grasped the tissue box. "This, I will do," he mumbled, sitting up slowly, and wiping each of them off. Glancing over at the desk, and deciding the distance wasn't worth it for the time being, he instead balled the soiled tissues, and wrapped them in several clean ones, to dispose next to the tissue box back on the nightstand with a mental note to clean it off in the morning. 

Henry crawled to his partner's right side, and fell down beside him. Drawing Gordon to himself with an arm, he closed his eyes, and buried his head in his chest.

"Your dinner will get cold," Gordon mumbled.

"Don't care," Henry mumbled, "Tired."

Gordon buried his head in his hair, glad that he was home.

XXXXXX

James limped home, holding onto the right side of his face as he tugged himself along on a handrail. He hoped that his parents were asleep at this point. The black eye would be hard to cover up, but he figured he could devise a way to sneak out his mother's facial cream and cover it in the morning. A car passed close by, casting its headlights over him. The Yorkshire night was cold, his panting breath whispering before him in clouds.

There were four of them this time, all a year older than him. He should've known better to try to sneak into the club with Kenneth and Jerry. Rather, sneaking in wasn't the issue, it was what occurred within. He should've taken a bottle with him outside, and urinated into it like his friends, but he'd wanted to fix his hair in the men's washroom. Just his luck that he ran into Whistler and his lot, upper class twits that they were.

James drew the back of his wrist across his mouth. In retrospect, if he hadn't reacted to Whistler's inflammatory comments, nothing would have come of it. Still, it was hard not to react when Whistler asked if his sister was selling sex on the street corner to keep bread on the table.

By the time Jerry and Kenneth had managed to rescue James, he'd taken several punches to his chest and sides, along with a blow to the eye. His knuckles were bleeding from punches of his own, and blood was running from his mouth from biting one of Whistler's friends, who screamed, "He's a fucking animal!"

Much to his disdain, he saw that the house lights were on. James stepped sideways, attempting to circle about the perimeter, and slip in through the back window. He made it partway to the window when a hand roughly seized him by the arm, yanking him backward. His heart leapt into his throat as he saw his father, still clad in his sanitation worker's uniform. His face was shadowed by the darkness, but his intentions were clear in what he growled at him. "We need to talk."

"It amazes me, it really does!" James lowered his head as his father paced back and forth before him moodily. He stared down at the wooden floorboards beneath the old couch and counted the imperfections in them. "I have told you not once, not twice, but more times than I can think of to stop fighting and look what happens!"

"They were making fun of Blanche, Dad," James replied, his tone low but biting as he raised his eyes, "What did you want me to do?"

"What do I want?" He turned his head from him to laugh. James scowled at that, only to gasp in surprise as he was seized by the shirt collar and yanked up. Grunting and wincing, he attempted to bring up a hand, and twist out of his father's grip, only for his hand to be shoved down. He trembled for a moment and felt that he wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bed. "Let me explain something to you, little boy," his father snarled.

"Charles!" James's mother exclaimed, standing up from where she had sat with her hands tightly folded in her lap, "That's enough!"

Swinging his head about, he snapped, "Shut it, Mary!"

"He's my son, as well!" She snapped.

James felt embarrassed at her attempted intervention, and his father yelled, "It's my house, and I won't have this lowlife associated with it any longer!"

James gasped as he was cast back a few steps. "Here's what'll happen to boys like you. You think that you're invincible. You will die alone, face down in a pool of your own vomit, and no one will ruddy care! And you know why that is, James?" James gritted his teeth as his father went on, "Because you are a useless cunt! You are nothing but trouble, and an embarrassment, at that! I wash my hands of you! GET OUT!" James's eyes widened, and he felt as if he was drifting from his body. A cold sweat covered him. "If you aren't out by nightfall tomorrow, boy, I'm calling the police."

Anger sparked inside him at that, and he snapped out of his shock. "Fine," James replied tightly, "I'm glad that's settled, then."

Turning, he stomped to his room, his sisters staring at him. Turning his head, he snarled, "The hell are you looking at?" Their door quickly shut.

Slamming the door behind him, he gripped a shaking hand onto the knob, while the other rubbed at his face. He felt as if the room was spinning before him.

Taking a few steps, he fell sideways onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, and wondering what to do. He didn't have a job, and little to nothing to his name. School wasn't even a concern at this point, and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to even find somewhere to sleep. He felt so foolish, and resentful of his father.

A rapping sounded once on his door, and before he could respond, the door opened to reveal his mother, her dark eyes flashing. "I've made an arrangement for you," she greeted unceremoniously. At James's hopeful expression, she shook her head. "You'll still be leaving, but you won't be without a roof." At his crestfallen look, she added, "Did you expect anything else, with how much of a handful you've been? I doubt your father would even accept a royal pardon." James gave a nod at that. "Let me at least have a look at you," she said, holding out her hand.

"Mum, it's fine, I'll take care of it," he replied, attempting to shove her off himself.

She seized the unwounded side of his face and forcibly turned it. With a sigh, she said, "Well, at least it's not as bad as I've seen you before. You keep hurting yourself, though, and that pretty face of yours will be damaged beyond repair." She shook her head. "I've given you such a nice body, James. The least you can do is take care of it."

James felt embarrassed by that, and she continued, "You're going to be living with your uncle on the railway until you're finished with schooling. After that, it is up to you."

He nodded and reached under his bed to pull out his trunk.

"Take my machine. You'll need it where you're going," she offered. James thought immediately of the black sewing machine his mother used to repair and make clothing after returning from her work as a maid. He admired the make of it, and eventually, after a few instances of begging, was taught how to use it. "At the very least, if you need money you can sell it."

James shook his head. "I can't very well do that."

"This isn't an argument, James. You're taking it with you. I will be checking your trunk when you leave."

James scowled. "Fine. I'm going to bed, since I have a long journey tomorrow."

His mother was silent for a moment before replying, "You brought this on yourself, James, and you have to understand that."

James glared at her, and she walked away, pulling the door shut behind her. Lowering his head, he began to weep, the tears falling onto his hands, the iron from the blood clotting having coated them in an ugly red. His voice caught in his throat, and he pulled up his knees to bury his head in them.

He was lucky that he didn't have school tomorrow, not that he would plan on going, anyway. He felt disgusting. Raising his head, looked furtively about, as if seeing his room for the first time. There were the cracks in the plaster, his old teddy bear propped on a shelf, and picture of a rearing black horse on the wall.

James shut his eyes against the tears.

XXXXXX

"So I towed Phillip away from the mudslide, but I told him that next time he wouldn't be so lucky," Thomas explained, "His eagerness nearly caused him to go off the rails."

Edward chuckled from where he sat beside Thomas on a low stone wall near the sheds, where both of their engines sat cold. "Well then, you've become quite an authority. Taken him under your wing, have you?"

Thomas shrugged. "I suppose Percy and I have taken on a little brother. I should be used to surrogacy, by now." He ran a hand through his hair. "It's nice, in a way. He has a place where he belongs. Besides, he'll need help if his bike's tires pop again on the way to work."

Edward smiled at him, and Thomas felt warmed by the other man's pride in him. It was a bit silly, really, with Edward only teaching him on his preliminary run on Sodor, but they had grown closer together as the years went on. He was a warm and comforting presence, which Thomas enjoyed having about. Thomas didn't judge him or the others for their lifestyle, though it was still strange to him. Thomas was unsure of what he felt about the fact that his co-workers were in physical relationships outside of the yard. The less he thought of that, he decided, the better.

As far as his reaction when he had heard gossip of Edward's nature, Thomas had felt hurt, at first, for Edward not trusting him. However, his unhappiness at that dissipated during the crackdowns. Newspaper articles showed images of men being hauled away for just brushing up against one another or saying an innocuous endearment. He understood it more when he buried his nose in Molly's long hair under the light of a streetlamp, knowing that the worst they would get was a snicker or jeer tossed at them by a passerby. He'd clutched at Molly's shoulder and thought for a moment of whether he could deal with losing her. And when she raised her head to look at him, and ask if everything was all right, he knew then that he couldn't. More so, he knew that he couldn't imagine having that axe consistently hovering over him of that happening.

Edward did wish to extend a hand toward Thomas, and ruffle his hair, but thought better of it. With his being an invert being known, he didn't want any movements he made to be taken the wrong way. Thomas caught his indecision and smiled back. Edward wondered, not for the first time, how a parent could throw a nice kid such as this one away so willingly, and at such a tender age. However, an angered yell caught their attention from the goods yard.

"That doesn't sound good," Thomas commented quietly. With a nod, Edward stood and quickly led the way toward the source of the noise. Beyond a few parked trucks carrying timber and concrete support struts were two figures, one significantly taller than the other.

Dean Tenpenny was utterly livid as he towered over Olivia "Lady" Lawson. Waving his flesh finger before her face, he growled, "Let me explain this one more time, so even a dumb bitch like you can understand it." Raising his voice and elongating his words, he said, "A red signal means 'STOP.' That means that you must stop and wait if there is a problem. However, if there is no red signal, that means 'GO.' Now, if a red signal isn't dropped, that means you can go. So, tell me, Lady, why the hell did it take you so long to get out of my way when there wasn't a red signal?!"

"I told you, I can only go so quickly!" Lady exclaimed, pointing for emphasis, "And another thing, stop laying on your horn! It scares my passengers!"

"I'll stop laying on it when you learn how to get out of my way!" He began to pace before her, declaring, "You are the epitome of uselessness. You drive too slowly, you don't seem to know where you're going, and what's more, you lounge around and entertain kids like some party clown! What's wrong with you?"

Lady held her ground. "There's nothing wrong with me, Dean."

His metal arm glinted from where it was raised in the sunlight, and he paused, the silence dead between them. Edward nudged Thomas, who broke into a run before him, Edward trudging as quickly as he could manage behind him. "What are you looking at?" Tenpenny demanded with a growling undertone.

"Dean, enough!" Edward yelled, and Tenpenny turned his head, strands of his close-clipped dirty blonde hair falling over his face.

"Edward," he commented, "I should've known." His eyes fell on Thomas as the younger man stopped before him. "And you brought the puffball along."

Thomas fumed at that. "He didn't 'bring' anyone. We could hear you from across the yard."

Lady turned her head at that and looked shocked as she watched more figures approach. Edward glanced over his shoulder to see his other team members appearing, drawn by the voices. Lady shrunk back against the trucks in embarrassment, and Edward followed her, wishing to remove her as quickly as possible. "Don't you think of slinking off," Tenpenny growled at Lady, pointing at her, "I'm not finished with you yet."

"Stop it!" Thomas exclaimed, starting forward and waving his hand, "That isn't called for!"

He gasped as Tenpenny shoved him backward a step. "This doesn't concern you."

"Hey, don't touch him!" Percy exclaimed.

"Or what, exactly? It isn't as if I've done any damage."

Edward jerked Thomas back by his shoulder, prompting the younger man to cry out in surprise. "I'd rather keep it that way, thank you."

"Please, don't make a fuss," Lady muttered, glancing about the forming group, "It's fine."

Edward held out a hand and began to guide her away when Tenpenny blocked him. James immediately started forward at that, his fists clenched, only for Gordon to grab him by the shoulders, and tug him backward. James turned his head, and growled, "You'd be acting differently if it was Henry."

"Hence why I've stopped you," Gordon replied flatly. James was about to retort when Edward spoke up.

"Let us pass, Dean," Edward commanded.

"Can someone please tell me when the hell I joined the goddamned freak show?!" Tenpenny snarled, twisting about to look at all of them in turn.

"Oho, you're one to talk!" Emily called.

"You want to say to my face, cunt?" He demanded. Edward slipped by him as Emily started forward, glaring. Nia and Rebecca glanced uneasily at each other. Passing by them, Edward gave Nia a reassuring glance, and nodded slightly away from the scene. Nia grasped Rebecca's shoulder, and led her away.

Starting slowly forward, Emily replied, "I said, 'you're one to talk.' Are you going to put your hands on me as well, Tenpenny? You've already started with one of us."

Tenpenny glared back at her and glanced between her and Thomas before looking behind them at the gathering. "This didn't concern any of you."

"That's nice, but when you yell loud enough for the rest of the yard to hear you, people will come," Thomas replied plainly.

"Glad to know I've kicked the hornet's nest, then," he responded with disdain, relaxing and beginning to walk off, tossing over his shoulder, "When each of you learns how to think for yourselves, rather than grouping up on someone who gives any of you any form of criticism, please let me know."

After Tenpenny had left, Henry commented, "A pity that we have to share a locker room with that sort."

Lady glanced about the semi-circle that had formed. "Are you all right?" Thomas asked.

"I…" Swallowing, she caught her breath. "I need to go, now." Edward moved aside to allow her to pass as she headed off toward the women's locker room, her gaze glassy from embarrassment.

"I'll give her a week," Gordon commented, shaking his head as the gathering dispersed. Emily threw a glare at him before starting after Thomas, who was mumbling under his breath about talking to the Fat Controller.

"I heard that he had been harassing Proteus, too," Toby said to Percy.

"That explains why he quit, as well," Percy replied. Raising an eyebrow, he asked, "What's he got against them, in particular?"

"Parlor magic," Toby explained, "Lady loves to entertain the children at the station with card tricks and fortune telling. Tenpenny dislikes that sort of thing heavily."

"But it's all in good fun!" Percy exclaimed in surprise, "What is his issue with it?"

"He has his own superstitions," Toby replied ambiguously, waving his hand, "But more to the point, he considers it to be something that would degrade the railway's reputation."

"Then there is the other issue," Henry commented, "Lady's newer, as is he. Every mistake they make is magnified. It's easier for him to cast his mistakes on someone else, considering how her engine stands out as much as his. Proteus's did, as well, with the lamp on its head."

"Then you had Skarloey and the others telling tales about him being a descendant of the fey, which didn't make things any easier," James commented, rolling his eyes at the notion.

"Regardless," Gordon replied, "This will need to be stopped. While I doubt that we'll be seeing much more of Lady, it doesn't bode well for any of us if this continues." His gaze fell on Toby, and then on Edward, both of who said nothing. "Typical," he commented with an undercurrent of hardness, "A shunter and a fussbudget have more sense in their heads to act than do the seasoned men."

Toby walked away, refusing to justify his comment with an answer, while Edward stared at him and replied, "You would do well to learn from them, Gordon."

"I haven't a need," he retorted, turning his back on Edward to follow after Thomas and Emily, "I am taking action."

James folded his arms and commented drolly, "His pomp amazes me, it really does."

"I don't see you lifting a finger, James," Henry reminded him. With a sidelong glance at him, James said no more.

A crow flew overhead, its caw adding to the disquiet.

XXXXXX

The crowded platform greeted Thomas as he walked, Percy at his side, into the station proper. He had two hours before his shift and felt utterly defeated. It had ultimately been for nothing, standing with Emily and Gordon before the Fat Controller, and laying out the case before him of the confrontation. What did come out of it was practically useless. Tenpenny was reprimanded for pushing Thomas, but otherwise not much else. Emily didn't think it worth her time to pursue anything against Tenpenny for his swearing at her, and as for Lady, nothing was heard from her at all. Despite prompting on more than one occasion by her co-workers, particularly Emily, her only response was a resignation a week later.

"Not a word from you," Emily had grumbled to Gordon on the following day as she cleaned off the windows of her engine's cab. Gordon acquiesced, wishing to leave the unhappy affair behind.

Lady stood on the platform with a bag of luggage beside her. Thomas felt conflicted at the sight. He was upset at the loss of a co-worker, yet at the same time didn't want anything to do with her. He was not the only one to offer her assistance, only for her to do nothing. But then she turned back to look at him, and he slowly retracted his opinion. She looked relieved for the ordeal to be over, her hat tilted up over her dark hair and skin in a hopeful manner, the netting pulled slightly down over her eyes. She smiled warmly at him, and he realized that it had all been her wanting to save face that she had said nothing.

Percy waved at her, and she smiled, calling, "Hello!"

The two joined her on the platform, with Lady holding out her hand to shake each of theirs in turn. "This is a pleasant surprise—I thought that no one was going to see me off."

"Emily was going to come along as well, but her shift's on," Thomas explained, and Lady smiled.

"Then please give her my thanks for thinking of me," she replied, "When James arrives, I'll be heading off."

"Where to?" Percy inquired.

"A hotel for the night, then the mainland," she replied, the plainness of her tone indicating that she didn't wish to pursue the matter further, "Burnett and I have already said our goodbyes. He has Tasha and Lily, so he will stay. Whoever the new driver is, I just hope he or she takes care of the engine." Lady's voice dropped on the last sentence, and Thomas frowned in sympathy.

Percy reached into his pocket. Procuring a small case, he opened it to present to both. "Cigarillos, a gift from Gator. They'd fit a special occasion."

Gratefully, Thomas and Lady each took one, Thomas holding out his lighter for the three to use. Lady sat down upon the bench, tucking her feet underneath herself, her bag beside her. Smoke trailed out of the cigarillo. Thomas sat on the opposite side, with Percy leaning behind them as they smoked in silence. "Could I ask a question, Lady?" Thomas inquired.

She nodded. "Go ahead."

"Why did you stop performing in your family's circus act?"

Holding the cigarillo in one hand, she chuckled. "My parents' act, you mean. Well, it was my age."

"I don't understand," Percy commented, "You mentioned that you quit when you were eight. That's still quite young."

Lady's vision darkened. "It was old enough for me to realize one night, hanging upside down, with an audience below me in red and blue pulsing lights, that the only thing separating me from a fifty-foot plunge to the floor was a sweaty hand." She closed her eyes. "It didn't matter that it was Dad or Mum that was holding my ankle. I couldn't take the height anymore and being tossed about as if I was a sack of potatoes. We weren't the 'Flying Lawsons,' in my eyes. We were a family that, if someone moved wrong just an inch, would fall and break like china dolls." Harold, his blue eyes hidden behind his aviators, and speaking into a microphone attached at his right ear as his helicopter lifted off appeared in Percy's mind. "Some people were meant to fly. I wasn't," Lady summarized.

Disturbed by her answer, Thomas changed the subject. "How did you learn how to read tarot cards?"

"Psychics sometimes traveled with the circus," she explained, reaching for her purse, "Would either of you like a reading? It's on the house."

Thomas nodded his head eagerly. "Sure."

"Very well, then. What sort of reading? Your future, perhaps? Or is there a question you wish for me to answer?" She asked as she presented the deck to him.

Thomas glanced at the station clock, and replied, "The former."

Lady handed the deck over to him. "Shuffle this thoroughly for me and give it back to me."

Thomas obeyed, with Percy watching intently. His eyes flicked back to Lady, who met his gaze, but said nothing. Thomas handed the deck back over, and she fanned out the cards. "Choose three." Thomas carefully pulled one from each side, his third choice from the middle. Lady placed the cards away, and gestured for him to lie them down, one at a time. "Past, present, and future," she explained as he placed each down in sequence, "We will begin with your past, and see how well you are faring now. But what I will advise is that the future is not set in stone. Take what you will from this – it's just a reading." He nodded furtively at that.

Lady slowly turned the cards over, one by one. "The page of cups." Thomas stared at the image of a young man as she explained, "In your past, an opportunity was given to you to indulge in your passions, and your creativity."

"I think the purchase of your engine would fit," Percy commented. With a nod, Thomas gestured for her to turn over the second card.

Lady revealed to the two the image of a nude man and woman. She immediately covered it with her hand to keep any passerby from seeing it. "The lovers," she commented. Thomas smiled, and thought of Molly as she explained, "Though the literal interpretation of this card is self-explanatory, the metaphorical interpretation is that you are becoming stronger in your values, as of present. You know where you are, and where you stand. Take care to keep hold of them."

Thomas glanced at Percy. "If we keep each other in line." Percy winked, and Thomas gestured for her to flip the last one.

The third card depicted a skeleton in armor astride a horse. "Death," Lady said, her tone holding finality. At Thomas and Percy's shocked expressions, she explained, "Rarely does this card signify a literal death. What it does mean, however, is that a change is coming. What will matter is how you deal with that change." Bringing the three cards together, she placed them back into the deck. "The rest is up to your judgment." Rising, she doused her cigarillo and smoothed out her skirt. "Now then, I have a train to catch."

Lady paused before the engine's cab, and James leaned out to look at her, with Thomas and Percy standing in tow. "I assume you're capable of getting me there safely, James?" Lady challenged.

He smiled in a bittersweet manner, taking off his hat to wave it once in a farewell salute to her. "Welcome aboard, madam."

With a nod, Lady walked away, and allowed herself to be led by the guard to a coach. Thomas and Percy walked alongside the coach on the platform and stopped to wave as Lady hung her handkerchief out the window as a farewell.

James's engine pulled away, leaving the platform behind.

"Do you think there was anything to that magic?" Percy inquired.

Thomas shrugged. "I'd like to think so. Regardless, I hope her engine finds a new driver. It's too pretty to waste."

"What about her?" Percy asked, "Will she make it out all right?"

Thomas shook his head. "To be honest, I don't know, but it was her choice." He folded his arms with a frown. "What a waste." A goods train pulled to a stop, with Edward's engine at the head, the whistle blowing. Nia's engine, carrying another load, pulled up alongside him. Percy waved his hat at them. "I just don't understand it," Thomas muttered contemplatively. Percy glanced over at him, and he explained, "The Fat Controller wouldn't have kept Tenpenny on if he continued to act like that. He's helpful on the railway, we all are, and he can work on a team. We need him if there's an environmental hazard, but then he flies off the handle so easily."

Percy nodded, shuddering at his encounter with Dean previously that Gordon had to rescue him from. "For the time being, it's better that the lot of us don't go near him, if possible."

"Agreed," Thomas replied, and added to himself contemplatively, "A coming change…"

"Are you scared?" Percy teased.

Thomas shrugged. "If I don't know what it is, how can I be? Anyway," dropping his cigarillo, he stamped it out, "is everyone ready for the party tonight?"

Percy nodded. "Let's just hope our apartment is still standing afterward. We can't do any worse than Duncan's party."

Thomas tilted his head. "What happened, anyway? I couldn't make it."

Dropping his cigarillo, and stomping it out, Percy replied, "Someone set the piano on fire."


	2. Chapter 2

They didn't come to his graduation.

It wasn't that James expected them to, nevertheless it hurt. His grades weren't very good, and it reminded him all too well of his mother telling him, "You're not very intelligent, but you have that pretty face. It makes up for it."

His mother's brother, Albert, however, did make it. James had an understanding with the man, at least. While his dwelling was quite a step down from his previous lodgings, mostly due to his uncle not being married or having children of his own, at least it was a place to sleep, even if the couch was bad for his back and the sounds of engine whistling and trucks passing tended to jolt him awake. As time passed, however, James slowly became used to it, and allowed the sounds to lull him to rest.

"Don't think I'm going to allow you to be lazy, kid," said Albert, with James reflected in his mirror over his shoulder in the mirror as the former shaved, "You'll need to work for your keep." James scowled at that but said nothing.

He had less and less time to spend with friends between keeping his relative's home in order, cooking, and mending his uncle's clothing, usually a railway uniform. James told himself it didn't matter, as Kenneth and Jerry would move on to tertiary education, while he would stay behind. Still, watching them walk off after the graduation ceremony still hurt.

"So, what are you going to do?" Albert asked, raising an eyebrow.

James shrugged. "I can walk on the rails like you. They're hiring, aren't they?"

"You'd lower yourself to that?" He jibed.

"Do I have a choice?" James asked, "You were going to rid yourself of me, anyway."

An angered expression on his face, his uncle raised his hand, "Now, see here—"

James instinctively recoiled, and Albert lowered his hand, a look of genuine shock on his face. "I wasn't going to—oh my…" He sighed, shaking his head, his hands on his hips. "You're just a kid, too. Barely older than a baby."

James felt indignant at that and stood up straight. "And?"

"I won't be able to fix you, sorry." James scowled at that, but not quickly enough to hide the crestfallen look on his face. "Here," his uncle said, grabbing his hand to hold up, and put a few banknotes into it, "Go get yourself a drink to celebrate your graduation. Things will only get harder from here, so you may as well enjoy it." Albert took his leave at that, pulling the front door shut behind him.

James counted the banknotes in his hand before pocketing them in silence, the quiet house surrounding him. He sighed feeling utterly lonely.

XXXXXX

Percy groaned, cracking an eye open. Morning light shown over his body. A pillow was under his head. The furniture stood over him, and was comprised of chairs and a couch, as opposed to his bed. Footsteps and quieted voices sounded near him, including a set of steps approaching him. Twisting about, he saw Donald pulling out a chair to sit down.

Noticing his glance, Donald greeted, "Morning, Percy." Dark circles were under the Scotsman's eyes.

"Morning," he replied with a yawn, "Why am I on the floor, Donald?"

"You liked it," he answered.

Propping himself up on his arm, and wincing, he asked, "Come again?"

Donald answered, his hand draped over the chair's arm as he rubbed at his eyes, "You were commenting about how nice the floor was, and stroking over it, saying that you hadn't realized it for so long. I thought it would be better if I left ye be."

Percy stared at him and wondered how he was going to live that down when a crash sounded. Percy winced. "Phillip, you better not have broken my lamp!"

After a pause, Phillip replied, "Technically it's Thomas's lamp, as well."

Percy dropped his head into his folded arms, mumbling, "'Let's have a party, Thomas, it will be fun,' I said."

"It was fun, give yourself that much," Donald offered.

"Who's all still here?" Percy asked, not looking up from his arms.

Donald chuckled. "Everyone."

He sighed. "Well, at least we did right by having everyone bring a breakfast item, just in case. Anyway, we didn't have enough beds, so how did everyone manage to sleep?"

Footsteps sounded, and Phillip appeared, self-consciously running his fingers through his tussled blonde hair. "I'm sorry, Percy," he said quietly, "I'll pay for it."

Before Percy could reply, Donald explained, patting the pillow behind him, "Phillip helped take care of us. You were too tired, so we didn't want to wake you. Thomas and he laid out pillows for us."

Percy smiled, and turned to look at Phillip. "Well then, you're off the hook this time. Next time, just be more careful."

Phillip smiled back warmly. "Thanks, I'll be sure to remember that."

A yawn caught their attention as Nia rose from the couch, stretching luxuriously. Smiling sleepily at them, she said, "Thanks for inviting me to the party, Percy. It was a lovely time."

"Glad you enjoyed it." Percy attempted to rise, only to slip back onto the floor with a cry. "If I can only get the room to stop spinning," he grumbled to himself.

Rustling sounded, drawing Nia's attention. She gave a faint smile. "Good morning, Emily."

At Emily's groggy groan, Percy turned his head to see a pillow nest. Emily was sitting on it and scratching her scalp. Mavis was turned away from her, her blonde hair a mess as she continued to sleep. Emily stood in a wobbly manner and leaned against the side wall. "I think I had too much to drink last night," she mumbled as she stared down at the floor.

"That's all of us," Percy replied curtly.

Nia glanced between Emily and Mavis and gave Emily a reassuring smile when she remembered herself and turned to glance at her. With a nod, she cracked her arms over the back of her head. "Matter of time you knew as well, I guess," she mumbled.

"This doesn't leave the room, though, Nia," Donald said, his fingers tapping upon the chair arm moodily.

Nia gave a sober nod. Water ran in the kitchen, and footsteps padded out. Douglas, bearing dark circles under his eyes, appeared, holding two glasses of water, one of which he offered to Donald, who gratefully took it. With a slight wave to the partially assembled group, he moved toward Rosie, who was curled up on an assortment of pillows beneath the window's recess. Kneeling down beside her, he placed his hand on her shoulder, and quietly said, "Wake up, hen. It's morning."

"Where're Thomas and Molly?" Nia asked, glancing about. At Percy's aside glance and slight smirk, she chuckled, catching the sound in her hand.

With a yawn, Rosie sat up to lean her cheek against Douglas's leg. Kissing the top of her head, he held out his hand. Grasping it, she stood, and drew her arm across her eyes.

"They're going to miss breakfast," Phillip commented.

Emily smiled. "Do you want to try to wake them up?"

Padding over to a side door, Percy opened it, and retrieved an implement. "Here, use the broom," Percy handed over the broomstick to Emily, the two of them exchanging smirks.

Raising the broom's back end to the ceiling, and beginning to bang on it, she called out, "Oh Thomas, Molly! Wake up, you two!" A few seconds later, something heavy hit against the floor, with Thomas's muffled swearing carrying down to them.

Percy shrugged, rocking backward slightly on his feet. "Give him a couple of minutes, now. When you wake him, he doesn't go back to sleep. Just takes ages to get moving."

Putting down the broom, she walked over to sit on her knees beside Mavis, who was now awake, blinking blearily and rubbing at her eyes. Through the open bathroom door, Rosie's red hair shone as she ran a brush through it.

"Think we brought too much food?" Emily asked.

Douglas scoffed. "Knowing how we eat? No. I suppose the party was worth the price of admission, though," he said cheekily.

Percy smiled. "You come, you better bring something. Now, quit complaining, and get cooking."

"Yes, sir!" Douglas replied with a mock salute before strutting off to the kitchen. Donald rolled his eyes after his brother.

"I don't remember falling asleep here," Mavis mumbled.

Emily raised an eyebrow, and Mavis smiled, propping her elbow against the pillow nest. "Thanks," she said genuinely. Emily kissed Mavis's forehead, and got up to walk toward the kitchen.

"Hey, Donald!" Emily called over her shoulder, "How about you actually show us that Scottish cooking you've been talking up?"

Donald yawned, cracking his wrists over his head. Standing up, he called out as he went into the kitchen, "Try and keep up with me, lass!"

Percy winced as he held his head. "So, Phillip, this is what happens when you drink a Scotsman's whisky," he mumbled.

Phillip chuckled. "It looked like a good time."

"Is there anything I else I did while drinking last night?" He asked.

Phillip shrugged. "Someone was singing a rendition of the national anthem on the coffee table."

Nia winced. "Phillip, that was you."

With a blush, he asked quietly, "Was I at least good?" At their silence, he cleared his throat self-consciously. "I think I'll help in the kitchen."

"How will you deal with all of this?" Nia asked, using her hands to indicate the room. Discarded bottles, plates, and paper lay everywhere.

Percy shrugged. "We clean it up?"

She laughed. "Well, that's a good answer. Do you need a pair of hands?"

"Yes, please," he replied, quickly taking her up on the notion, "I need to get the medical supplies, anyway."

"Medical supplies? That's kind of you, Percy," Nia commented.

Percy shrugged. "Nothing outside of a few bottles of aspirin. Thought they would come in handy, regardless."

Nia rubbed at the side of her head with a wince. "Agreed."

Mavis dragged in a trash bag, and Nia nodded, beginning to pick up discarded napkins and bottles. Exiting the bathroom, Rosie joined in the cleaning effort, while Percy emerged to disperse the aspirin after dumping a few down his throat. He decided to devise a way to get back at Donald later.

Setting aside the bottles, he picked up a few overturned bottles, and grimaced at the stains on the pillows and floor. The pungent smells filling the air made his stomach growl, and at last Phillip called, "Over here when you're ready!"

Feet sounded on the stairs, and two shadows staggered into sight.

"At last, the man and woman of the hour!" Douglas called.

Percy glanced up and smiled. Thomas, in irritation, flipped off Douglas, while Molly cast her glance away with a slight smile. Both were fully clothed, albeit Thomas was in a pair of pajamas, and Molly was wearing her party dress from last night, which was slightly rumpled.

"Come over here, you two! Soup's on!" Emily commanded, waving them over.

Plates clattered as Emily and Donald loaded them with eggs, sausage, and toast. "Oi, Donnie, what herbs you put in this one?" Douglas crowed, lifting the dish to sniff at it.

Emily rolled her eyes. "He didn't, Douglas. I did. It's basil."

Rosie playfully shoved Douglas from behind to get him out of the way. The group sprawled out over the furniture, careful not to sit on or break anything.

Percy stretched his back out, and Thomas asked, "What's wrong?"

Gesturing with his fork toward Donald and Douglas, he replied, "These two dimwits let me sleep on the floor."

Donald shrugged. "Do we look like your nannies?"

"Er, for what it's worth, Percy, thank you for letting me use your bed," Phillip said in a placating tone.

Percy sighed. "And Phillip broke my lamp."

Thomas tilted his head. "What can I say, we invited them in."

Mavis shrugged. "For what it's worth, you should see some of the parties that Diesel and Sidney throw."

"Thanks, but no thanks," Nia replied quickly, sidling away.

Emily smiled. "Not to worry, Nia, it's not always like it was at the yards. I've been to one, myself. Mavis took me."

"Infiltrator!" Phillip called out in mock disdain, picking up his plate and darting across the room, leaping over a fallen bottle, "Quick, sound the alarm!"

"I'll stop him!" Thomas decided, getting to his feet to chase him around the coffee table, which was still turned on its side. Donald called out encouragingly to Thomas.

"Breakfast and a show, then?" Emily asked, her eyes following them.

Molly's leg moved, and Percy slapped her wrist. "No helping!" She smiled, withdrawing her ankle. Phillip barely had time to put his plate aside before Thomas tackled him to the couch.

Phillip giggled underneath him, and Thomas shook his head. "I am too hung over for this."

Taking in the mess, Percy gave a sigh of relief at the fact that they weren't working today.

XXXXXX

"Phew, it's over!" Isabel exclaimed, her high heeled shoes in one hand as she followed one of the slip coach attendants, Bianca, away from the "Little Western's" women's locker room. A door from the men's locker room swung open, dispensing Duck and Oliver.

"What're you feeling like, tonight?" Oliver asked.

Duck shrugged. "I was thinking a pot roast, and a bread pudding."

Oliver ran his tongue over the side of his lip at that. "Sounds good. What do you need me to do?"

"Look pretty and enjoy it," he replied jokingly, "Oh, and don't complain too much if I burn something."

Oliver smiled. "Well, I suppose I can do that. Though, I'd be surprised if you managed to burn the pudding." Duck rubbed the back of his neck at that, and Oliver appeared concerned. "If you want me to help in the kitchen, I'd be happy to."

Duck shrugged in embarrassment. "I can't rely on you all the time, dear."

"You're not relying, you're learning. Besides, I learned from Toad, anyway, so I'm not perfect, either." Duck nodded at that and gave a sheepish smile. Oliver, with a furtive glance about, brushed his fingers over Duck's, his dark skin gentle against the scars that cut through Duck's pale skin.

Duck admitted to himself that Oliver made him a bit reckless. There were a couple of occasions that they'd flirted with public places as locations for interludes, though they took care to remain vigilant. Oliver's fingers tended to find Duck's skin and feel over the scars he'd incurred from the accident when his apartment had caught fire. Gentle squeezes would prompt Duck to further intimacy. Perhaps he considered Oliver a rogue, or merely liked the softness of the touches. It didn't matter. Regardless, he enjoyed his company on the "Little Western" railway and talk of old times of the Great Western Railway.

Toad waved to them as they ventured away from the platform. "Care to join me at the pond? Might do some good after a long day."

"Your natural habitat?" Oliver asked, playfully nudging him.

"As it is his," Toad replied, gesturing to Duck.

Duck smiled at that. "Yes, but if we throw you in there, I doubt you'll swim as well." They followed him to the pond.

At the side of the pond, Donald and Douglas were milling about with Rosie, the former's shoes off as he appeared to be searching in the water for something. "What's he up to?" Duck asked after greeting them.

Douglas smiled from where he sat beside Rosie, who was leaning forward attentively, her hands over her knees. "Donald's on the hunt."

At Oliver's and Toad's confused expressions, Duck chuckled. "Oh, I know who for. Has she laid?"

Douglas's smile broadened. "The station master told Donnie that she's had about four. Apparently, she was a good mummy, not letting anyone get near them."

A cry from Donald sounded, and the group turned to watch him disappear under the water with a splash. Surfacing, he spluttered and cursed, shaking his hair out. "It shouldn't be this bloody hard to catch a duck!"

"Personally," Oliver laid his head down on his crossed arms, which were behind his head, "I find this to be entertaining enough."

After a few jeers from the lakeside, Donald at least grasped a duck underneath the belly with a cry of, "Aha!" He smiled as he emerged from the water, a large duck in his arms, who flapped sporadically. "Here, Rosie. Come meet Dilly. She's me duck."

Rosie smiled, and she slowly reached out a hand. Dilly flapped her wings at the newcomer, prompting Donald to calm her by smoothing over the feathers at the base of her neck. Dilly stilled, and Rosie stroked her gently. "How'd you find her, Donald?" She asked.

He chuckled. "Well, that be a story. She's a beauty, isn't she?"

Rosie nodded. "She sure is."

"Oh, you're not going to tell her about our prank war?" Duck teased, "It's gotten to be the thing of legend."

Donald shrugged. "To be honest, lad, I wasn't sure if prank wars were the 'Great Western Way.'"

"Winning them is the 'Great Western Way," Oliver replied, tilting his head to the side, "Well, did you?"

Duck glanced away, a blush on his cheeks. "Well, er, we considered it a tie, right, Donald?'

Donald winked. "Ah, ah, ah, not quite. I distinctly remember ye saying 'All right Donald, ye win.'"

Duck conceded with a shrug, and Oliver smiled at Toad. "Well, what do you make of this?"

Toad chuckled. "I think we need to redefine what is the 'Great Western Way,' sir."

Duck gave a mock gasp, placing a hand to his heart. "Oh no, not that! Whatever else will I attach my personal value to?"

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Yes, however will you go on?"

Donald put Dilly down, allowing for the duck to flap away. Rosie chuckled. "Well, Duck, you'll be like me after my engine was repainted. You'd have to start your life all over again."

Duck smiled. "And will you point me in the right direction, Rosie?"

She smiled back. "Shouldn't you be doing that for me, Duck? You've been here longer."

"Oh dear, I can't seem to catch a break today," he commented, glancing about the assembly with a laugh. Taking a handkerchief out of his pocket, he waved it to indicate surrender.

"Well then, I think you've learned your lesson," Oliver teased, "Shall we be off, then?"

Duck nodded. "Quite." Toad waved and departed in the opposite direction as Duck and Oliver left.

Douglas brought his arm about Rosie, squeezing her against him. She tilted her head up to give him an affectionate peck on the lips. "Best head off, hen. It's getting late."

Rosie winked at Douglas, who pointedly kept his back to his brother. Donald was trying and failing to muffle his laughter in his hand. She was up on tiptoe, his arm holding her up. Rosie slipped back down to stand on her own feet. "Good night, sweetheart."

XXXXXX

"Feels good to be returning home with ye this time," Douglas commented, resting his arms over the balcony's short railing of their apartment, which rested above a funeral home. The black livery uniforms the brothers sometimes wore home from work occasionally led a passerby to think that their employment was with the funeral director, when that was not the case.

Donald smiled at him before moving to sit on the porch chair. "I've missed ye, Dougie." Striking a match, Donald lit a cigar, and leaned back in the chair to puff on it. Duck had piqued his curiosity over cigar smoking, and he had attempted it. Getting used to it was another matter in the change of filtration, but he preferred it to cigarettes.

"Missed ye, too," he replied, leaning back to look at him, "Hope we aren't growing apart."

The difference in shifts often caused the twins to miss each other, as of late, with the two becoming more independent. Most notable was Douglas's interest in Rosie. Due to carrying later day shifts as well as night shifts, Douglas spent more time working alongside her during the former.

Rosie, leaning against her engine's cab, commented as she looked sideways at him, "It's a bit foolish, isn't it, pretending to be just like someone else?"

"They say imitation is the best form of flattery," Douglas pointed out.

Rosie chuckled. "I think that I've flattered Thomas too much, then. It was a foolish crush, in retrospect, and I need to move beyond it."

"You don't think you already are?" Douglas asked, his boot scuffing against the gravel, "Rosie, you're working on your own. You don't focus upon Thomas's movements and work habits all the time. There's nothing wrong with being inspired by someone else's manner of working."

Rosie frowned, glancing away from him. "I've made a fool of myself."

"We all have," Douglas replied, "Don't ye worry yourself on that point."

Rosie smiled at that and continued to stare off into the distance.

As they saw each other more often, over time, they became fonder of each other. Rosie felt embarrassed by her engine having a lower capability, but nonetheless committed herself to her work, albeit of pulling lighter loads.

Douglas found it difficult, at first, being away from his twin for long stretches of time, as Donald continued to work on Duck's branch line. He chided himself, however, with the fact that he was capable – he'd proven his worth in the destruction of the brake van, and the firing of the guard.

Outside of the engine shed, James, a tired look on his face, walked over to Douglas, who was sitting on a bench, and feeling unsure of his future. "With my guard being sick, he had to fill in," he explained, his tone becoming bitter as he added, "Good riddance to him."

Douglas gave a sigh of relief. The guard hadn't liked him, thinking him to be a criminal for stealing his train. He was not incorrect on that point. "Why'd he give you trouble?" He asked.

James shrugged. "Simple, I'm reckless. Old man didn't like it, so he tried to cause me trouble, too."

"You can afford to be," Douglas replied with an undertone of annoyance.

"Exactly my point," James replied, adjusting the tassels on his epaulet, "I spoke with the Fat Controller about what happened, so you have that going for you. You're not as important a driver as myself, however."

Douglas took the back handedness of James's wording for what it was worth. "Thankee, then," tapping his foot moodily, he added, his frustration still plain, "I'll be damned if the effort is wasted."

James grinned cockily. "It won't be, when you have me vouching for you."

Douglas smirked at the other man's attitude and wondered if James would ever learn how to deflate his ego. He immediately dismissed the possibility.

"I've had that," Rosie commented as he relayed the tale to her at the water pump. Taking a swig from her canteen, and brushing a wet hand through her bangs, she continued, "A guard I had before acted in a manner similar." Frowning, she commented, "I nearly lost my position as a result."

Douglas scowled as he pulled on the pump. "Why?"

"Can you guess?" She asked rhetorically.

Douglas glanced up at her. "His opinion was bollocks, then." Rosie smiled at that, and he glanced back down at the water. "You think it was wrong, what Donnie and I did?"

Rosie lowered her canteen. "I don't think I can make a judgment, Douglas. Steam is a dying industry you and I both know that." At his sober nod, she continued, "Nevertheless, it's what our line of work is. It wouldn't have been easy for you to find other work, and, speaking from experience, it most likely would have become worse for an unknowable stretch of time before it could become better. I'm not sure what I would have done, in that situation."

Releasing the pump, and tightly refastening the canteen shut, he replied curtly, "Forget it, then."

She nodded, and departed, the two going their separate ways to work. Rosie later asked Douglas if he wished to take a walk with her by the fairgrounds after work, and he agreed. He picked up the previous conversation thread that had been dropped, feeling uncomfortable about leaving it where it had been. He told her about the prospects that he'd looked over but had found to be less than decent. Mining concerned him in that he would be living in darkness. Sailing bothered him due to his stomach not being able to handle it. Construction was a possibility, but his footing wasn't good enough for the heights.

What he didn't say was that he would gladly have forced himself to do it, had he no other choice. There wasn't a need to vocalize it, however, as it went unsaid. It was easier to take his engine, and leave, at the bottom of it. Rosie, however, commented, "Donald wanted to protect you."

Douglas nodded. "It's a tad embarrassing, I'll be honest, but I couldn't say no. He's me brother, and I didn't want him to leave me behind." He shook his head. "Selfish, really."

"Would you have done the same for him, though?" Rosie asked.

"In a heartbeat," Douglas replied, and she smiled.

They walked again, multiple times, after work, admiring the landscapes, and occasionally sitting down together to eat. Reaching over for her sandwich, Rosie had squeezed his hand once, making him wish for her not to let go.

She told him, rainwater dripping off her ponytail, about how she had begun as a driver. It hadn't been a "family business" prospect, rather she was the middle child that tended to vanish among her siblings. Her joy came from exploring the mechanics of the machines that gave a sense of freedom. With a chuckle, Rosie said, "If I'm going to fade away, I may as well see the world."

Smiling, he joked, "Not going to happen, lass. I'd find that red hair of yours." His comment earned him a self-indulgent smile from her, their breaths whispering to each other in the low temperature.

There were a few things Douglas couldn't tell his brother. Donald had been ready to kill him over his risking his neck in rescuing Oliver and the others from the scrap yard, for one. But there were other things, such as how Rosie felt against him as she breathed, her arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind and her chin resting on top of his head, exhausted from a long week. There were the things she muttered in her sleep. There were more intimate matters that Douglas didn't want to think of, lest his expression give himself away.

Donald smiled. "Hey, I knew it was going to happen. Me twin brother's striking out on his own, and I couldn't be prouder."

Douglas snorted. "Yer twin brother's a criminal, twice over."

"And then what would've happened, Oliver and the others rotting in jail? Sometimes the right thing isn't always the lawful thing."

Douglas leaned backward. "I miss home."

"I know, Dougie, I know," Donald replied, "but if we go back there, we'll be throwing away years of our lives." Douglas said nothing, and Donald went on, "I talked to Nia the other day."

"How's she doing?"

Donald smirked. "She's not a fan of the cold, I can tell ye." Sobering, he continued, "Now there's a woman who can't go home, either. She told me she has nothing left in Kenya."

"She's still looking for the rest of her family?" Douglas inquired.

Donald shook his head. "Not anymore." At his twin's distraught expression, he continued, "Dougie, it's been twelve years since the Mau Mau Uprising ended. She'd been writing letters religiously to her mother, siblings, and cousins, and has a box of the returned letters." Nia's disquieting expression returned to his mind. She had looked so sad, and worn down in the pub, as if twice her years.

Staring down into her drink, she had asked forlornly, more herself than him, "Why did my father take me? What right did I have to live?" Donald had felt frustrated with her for saying that, but merely reached over and squeezed her wrist in a comradely manner.

The other drivers joked, upon first meeting Nia, about her proclamation that her engine had saved her life, that was until after first glance. Her father, a driver for the British Empire, had been transported, with his train, when the Empire was beginning to pull its assets. He'd managed to argue for the life of one person to take with him, and chose his then-adolescent daughter, Nia. A few years after Nia herself had taken up her father's mantle, her engine was purchased, prompting a move to Sodor.

Douglas frowned. "What's this make Sodor then, a place for runaways?"

Donald waved a hand. "I wouldn't read into it quite like that. We're all soldiers of fortune, these days, and it'll probably continue like that."

Douglas nodded, and wrung out the crossbar under his hands. "Donnie be honest with me. Had it not been for me, would you have wanted to go back to Scotland?"

"Doesn't matter, I don't have any regrets," Donald replied, "Besides, I was going to come here, anyway, given how my engine was purchased. Might was well make a name for meself here. And regardless, wanting to go home doesn't change anything. We're here, and we'll make the most of it. You're me family, and I was willing to make that sacrifice."

Douglas glanced away. "Hope I was worth it."

Rising, Donald put a hand on his shoulder. "Always, Dougie."

XXXXXX

"Are you certain that you wish to try this?" Edward inquired.

James gave a smile and wink. "I am. Are you?"

Edward contemplated the cloth a final time in his hands before glancing back up at him. James's smile fell, and he lifted a hand. "Ed, tell me if this is too much."

"No, no, it's fine," he replied with a wave of the hand, "After all, we've planning this for a while. Wouldn't want to ruin it now, would I?"

James reached back and lifted his hair out of the way. "You aren't," he replied sincerely.

Walking around the side of the bed that his partner was sitting on, Edward held out the cloth before James. Licking his lips, James opened his mouth, allowing Edward to tug the cloth in, and tie it around the back of his head. Edward was careful not to pull it too tightly, and, for reassurance, lowered his hand to the base of James's neck. James brought up a hand and squeezed his.

Edward slowly let go to move about and inspect his handiwork. James had brought it up the prospect of trying a few new things to him before, and he had to give the man credit for being willing to play the submissive role. Edward, for his part, was unnerved at the prospect.

Edward took in the sight of him. James looked lovely, with the red velvet between his teeth. Though his limbs were free, he still appeared helpless before him. While Edward was somewhat unnerved by that notion, he nevertheless found it arousing. "I must say, it's nice to not hear you speaking for a few minutes," he commented. James glared at him, only to realize that Edward was joking, and relaxed his expression. Edward lifted James's chin with the palm of his hand, holding his gaze quietly. James slowly gave a nod, and Edward let go. Three taps, they had decided, would signal if James needed to stop.

James gave a soft groan as Edward kissed down his neck, and tugged at his shirt, his fingers slipping under the open collar to rub at his skin. James grasped at Edward's wrists, only for the other man to switch his grip, and catch them. He pinned them down at James's sides, prompting a surprised grunt from the younger man. Edward slowly raised his head, rasping his tongue over James's neck. James tilted his head back and groaned as Edward nipped along his skin. "We'll have none of that, now, my dear," he whispered in his ear, "You're mine to tease and torment."

James couldn't help it, he burst out laughing, prompting Edward to let go of him and jerk backward in surprise. Reaching up, James tugged off the cloth to keep from choking on it. Edward, annoyed by his behavior, blushed and turned away. It was short-lived, however, and he also laughed. Turning back to look at James, he gave a snort. "Well," he commented, shaking his head, "At least we know what doesn't work."

James wound an arm about him, drawing him close to himself. "Oh c'mere, kitten."

XXXXXXX

The cemetery was dreary as Edward entered it, James following a few paces behind him. Edward held a hand over the flowers he was carrying to protect them against the wind. James was trying to swallow down his annoyance. They'd argued whether to come at all, and James had lost. He hated it whenever Edward won, which was often. Edward would simply talk him down in a relaxed tone, making him feel foolish by comparison. Still, as the fallen leaves crunched under his shoes, he wanted to fight with him on this again. "You don't have to," was his common refrain, to which Edward would flatly say, "They're my parents."

He supposed that Edward considered this his own form of closure, but if he did it annually, then it wasn't closure; it was habit. James knew that if he argued one more time, Edward would ask if he would wish to return without him, instead.

Edward's feelings were mixed. He missed his parents and felt lonely without them. His memories of them were not completely sorrowful. They had good moments, such as birthdays, praise for his achievements, and holidays. Still, there were too many dark times, between the physical and verbal abuse. His sister Lenore had the decency to not join in and helped to clean him up after a particularly bad beating that gave him his scars. What she said to him, however, cut deep. "Oh Edward, why can't you just act better? Mum and Dad wouldn't be so cruel if you were." And as she got older, she would become accusatory. "You brought this on yourself, you know. I hope you fix yourself soon, otherwise I'll never get a husband."

Distracted with his thoughts, he was surprised to see a small gathering upon his parents' plot of land. "Who're they?" James asked, his tone suspicious.

Edward slowly took in the figures and felt a sense of sadness fall over him. His sister Lenore had grown plumper and was fanning herself. He recalled that the last time he had seen her, she was giving him a disapproving glance as he left his great niece's birthday party. His niece Dorothy had aged, frown lines creasing her face. Susan, her daughter, had grown spry, her long limbs gangly.

Edward pointed each of them out in turn. "My niece, my great niece, and my sister."

James frowned. "Lovely bunch. We can just wait them out."

"It would be ridiculous to wait for them to leave," he replied, "I have as much right to be there as they do."

James stopped him. "No, you listen to me, for once. You don't have anything to prove to them."

"That isn't it at all," Edward responded evenly.

"You could've fooled me," he replied, "You can wait for them to leave, Edward. No one is forcing you to talk to them. And if doing so upsets you, then you don't need to."

Edward lowered the flowers. "James, I need you to trust me on this."

He hesitated before acquiescing with a nod of his head. Edward, frankly, could have rightfully told him it wasn't any of business, but at least his opinion was being considered. "All right. I'll be here if you need me."

Edward smiled at him before moving toward the gathering. The oldest of the women paused to stare at the approaching man before asking, "Edward, is that you?"

Removing his hat, he replied, "It's been too long, Lenore."

She glanced over at James, "And, he is?"

Edward turned his head, and James gave a nod. "An acquaintance."

"I'm sure," commented an annoyed voice. The two men glanced over to see the second oldest woman giving James a pointed look.

"Oh, Dorothy," Edward commented, "How are you?"

Dorothy held up a hand to him. "He stays over there, then, as he's just an acquaintance. This doesn't concern him."

"No," Edward replied sharply, "James is like family to me. He has as much right."

"Like family, is he?" Dorothy asked with a tilt of the head, "But not truly family, correct? He may remain there, then, as again, this does not concern him. It is nice of him to humor you, however."

Edward gave James an apologetic look, to which James gave a reassuring nod, having braced himself for such mistreatment beforehand. Turning back, Edward moved forward to lay his flowers at the foot of the tombstone. Edward's niece turned her gaze to look at James. For a moment, her eyes widened at him, her gaze turning appraising. James felt a sense of pride at that, only for it to immediately disappear when she scowled at him as if he were a rotten tomato. Of course, he figured, returning it whole-heartedly, he was the "horrid boy" in this, after all.

Edward's great niece, by contrast, looked unsure of herself, and shy. She stood away from her mother, her expression muted. Her eyes, however, were locked onto him. "Susan, stop staring, that isn't very polite."

"Oh, sorry," she replied quickly, averting her eyes.

James, partly out of spite for the girl's mother, and partly out of feeling sorry for her, said, "Don't worry, I'm not offended."

He smiled at Susan, who self-consciously pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "Hello," she greeted quietly, "Are you a friend of great uncle Edward?"

He nodded. "Yes, I know him from work."

Susan slowly returned his smile. "Oh, I know that. You're the driver, James Frost," turning her gaze somewhat away from him, she commented quietly, "You do look handsome in person."

Holding out a hand to her, James inquired, "You've ridden in one of my coaches before?"

Susan was tentative, but at last relented, placing her hand in his. "Yes, I have. You're quite fast, and your engine is lovely."

James placed a kiss to the back of her hand, and Susan blushed. "Why, thank you. I appreciate such a comment from a pretty girl, such as yourself."

Susan blinked at that. "Oh, but aren't you—"

"Flattered to meet such a charming young lady? Of course," James recovered. Susan's doubt disappeared for a moment, and he pointedly ignored her mother's annoyed comment.

"Charming? Well, uh, thank you," she replied, flustered. Drawing her hand back, she asked, "Will you walk with me?"

He nodded, following her past the trees, many of which were bare in the late fall weather. "Do you like sketching?" She asked timidly, "The trees are quite pretty to draw, like this."

James smiled at her. "Why yes, I do, though I like to draw clothing." Dorothy made an annoyed grunt at that, but said nothing, shadowing them as they moved along.

"He's nice-looking," Lenore commented, her voice turning accusatory, "I see that you've robbed the cradle."

Edward's head swung at that, and he felt considerably hurt. "James is over thirty. He's old enough to think for himself."

"Edward," Lenore sighed, "Please, reconsider. You've had a good life. I don't want you to end it in a prison or an asylum." At his silence, she added, "And if you truly care for James, you would be worrying for his sake, too. You will need a nurse as you get older, and forcing him, as your lover, to take up that responsibility is wrong. Don't have him throw his life away for you."

Edward felt anger rising in himself at her arrogance. He'd considered that many times, in perhaps ways that she wouldn't think of. He considered it when he heard James's bare feet padding across the floorboards of their home, or whenever he heard James's cockney accent calling out his name or going on about some thing or other. He knew he couldn't explain it to her, how the domesticity she took for granted in her own home was so precious to him. Edward knew he was allowing his envy to cloud his judgment, but he didn't much care.

He replied tightly, "I have already done so."

"Regardless, perhaps it would be better for him if he agreed to another arrangement. My granddaughter is looking for a husband." Edward's jaw dropped at that, and she continued, "If Susan had children with James, they would certainly be handsome."

Disgusted, Edward turned away from her.

"Edward!" She exclaimed in annoyance, "Don't you turn your back on me when I'm talking to you!"

He kept his back to her as he replied, "Lenore, please stop insulting me."

"Well, I never!" Paper thumping sounded, and he figured she had slapped her fan against her hip. She exclaimed, "You've gotten to be so mean!"

Pivoting on his heel, he replied sharply, "Then perhaps you should consider not speaking with me."

"You're my brother!" She cried in disdain, starting over, "It seems like ever since you started working on that railway, you've become an awful man." She waved a finger. "That job ruined you, Edward!"

"Pray tell, how?" Edward asked, spreading his hands, "I have neither served prison time, nor exploited my own family."

"You act cruel towards me when I am only trying to help you."

"Help me?" He questioned, pointing behind himself, "You just referred to my partner as if he were breeding stock!"

Lenore sighed. "You lack understanding, brother. James seems a nice lad, but he would never join the Wells family alongside you in this lifetime. By marrying Susan, he would be able to do so."

"You don't understand him, then." He lowered his hand. "James told me he was against doing such a thing, as it would be a lie."

"He'd rather be alone?" She asked in surprise.

"Yes."

"Then perhaps you exhibited better judgment than I thought," she commented, lowering her fan.

Edward's expression softened. "Lenore, I know you don't like the man I have become, over the years. I have hardened, and for that I apologize. However, I don't wish to change."

Lenore's face fell. "Then we have reached the parting of the ways."

He nodded. "I'm sorry, sister, but that is correct."

"Very well." She placed the fan away. "You'll have no further trouble from me. Just be sure that you have made the right decision with James, Edward. If he leaves you like Christopher did, you'll have no one to turn to."

"I'm willing to take that risk," he replied.

Lenore unceremoniously walked away from him, and stopped to collect her daughter, who was watching James's conversation with Susan, her arms folded. Susan's mother called to her, and she departed with an uncertain glance at James. Released from the conversation, James started over to Edward. "You all right?" He asked.

Edward sighed, removing his hat to wipe at his forehead. "I won't be hearing from her again."

"I'm sorry," James replied quietly.

Edward wanted to place his hand on his partner's chest, and lean on him for a moment, but it was out of the question. "It had to be done," he said.

"This wasn't what you wanted," James commented.

Edward nodded, and gestured for James to come with him. "No, but it's something I've become used to."

James reached for his wallet. "Here, I want you to come with me."

Edward glanced over. "Where?"

"We're going to be like kids. We'll eat stuff that's bad for us, and not care," James replied, "Don't worry about the price, I'll take care of it."

Edward placed his hands in his pockets and moved a step away. "While I appreciate the gesture, you don't have to."

James smiled. "What's this? You're not taking advantage of such a rare offer from me?"

Edward smiled and played along. "Not when you're trying to fatten me up."

James grinned. "A pity, really. It's becoming easier for you to catch me."

Tossing his scarf over his shoulder, Edward followed James out of the cemetery, not wanting to think on the implications of his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cut version is on Fanfiction.Net, deviantart, and Tumblr.
> 
> So here is the subplot that is AO3 exclusive: James and Edward trying out things that don't always work. There was going to be another flashback to James's past in this chapter, but it was becoming bloated enough as was.
> 
> While Emily and Mavis wouldn't face the same legal ramifications as t he male characters in same sex relationships, they keep it low-key to protect themselves. Douglas and Rosie is a crack pairing of mine, in that both are people who are trying to carve out their own individual identities, i.e. Douglas distancing himself from Donald, and Rosie distancing herself from Thomas. I had to cheat the timeline a little here: all-female train crews didn't start appearing in the UK until the 1980's, so to balance things, all of the female drivers in this have assigned male crews, no exceptions. Male drivers can choose female crew members if they want, given that unfortunately the time period would have afforded them more autonomy than their female co-workers. I do not recommend looking up information about the Mau Mau Uprising. The Spiteful Brake Van in this was converted into the guard that was trying to get Douglas and James fired. The slip coaches aren't named in canon -- Bianca is a name I came up with.
> 
> OC's ahoy again! Christopher is the name of Edward's ex, who was mentioned in passing in Steam and Shadows.


	3. Chapter 3

James breathed heavily from exhaustion. He felt disgusting after a day's work of shoveling coal, with debris from the labor coating his uniform. He brushed at himself and took a swig from his canteen. The driver clapped him on the back, and they departed, jumping down from the cold engine in the shed.

The Yorkshire engine's nameplate was Phoebe, and James liked her well enough. She was clean otherwise, and a good size, though it did annoy him that the work detail often caused him to be splattered with soot and other debris. The driver, William, was nice enough to work with. "Care for a drink?" He asked after work, changing out of his uniform into street clothing.

Toweling off his hair, James replied, "As much as I'd like to, I'll be getting back."

"Can't afford it, Jim?" William asked.

Embarrassed, James allowed the towel to block his face as he replied, "I'm tired, that's the issue." After graduation, his uncle had given him a time limit of a few months to move out. At the expiration of it, James had managed to secure a position on the Yorkshire railway. Secondary school was long gone in his mind as he shoveled coal for three years. Austen and Dickens meant nothing to him on the railway.

His flat was small, but he was thankful that he had the basic amenities of gas and running water, though the heat wasn't always available. The rent was his greatest expense, leaving other funds going toward provisions. In retrospect, he was thankful for his mother giving him the sewing machine, as it saved several costs. At least it allowed him to keep up appearances.

"A boy like you?" William laughed at that. "Though, that's to be expected. It must be past your bedtime."

James sneered at him. "Ah, yes, it's too early for me tonight to be making a drunken fool of myself."

"No, actually, it's because he thinks he's too good for us," a voice called. James turned and frowned at seeing Tellerman and Billings, another pair of driver and fireman, coming to join them.

"I haven't assumed anything of the sort," he replied tersely.

"Awfully defensive, aren't we?" Billings pressed.

William shook his head. "Leave the kid be. He isn't worth your time."

"Certainly not. Come along, then." William departed with the others, leaving James on his own. In frustration, he turned to look out at the steam engines, currently at rest. He'd been lucky to find a job as a fireman, but already he wanted more. He loved the power possessed by the hulking engines, but as time passed, he found that he wanted to harness it himself and drive it. The reasons were myriad. Most importantly, James thought it would make him seem important. Additionally, he would possess an autonomy that he had never had before. And alongside that, he would have accomplished something great. He didn't mind the soot, if it meant that there would be prestige along with it.

Cleaning himself up after his shift, James knew that he was still far from that goal, and part of it was perception. He was just the "kid" in the group, nothing more and nothing less. He kept to himself, mainly due to his finances, and that continued to undermine him. His uncle hadn't left him much to go off before turning him out, but at least he had been a good reference for this new job. Still, if he didn't stand out, he knew that he wouldn't get anywhere, and that would have to change. He smiled at himself in the mirror as he wiped his face off from splashing it. What did he have to lose, honestly?

Turning on his lamp, and sitting cross-legged on the bed, James ran his pen over the sheets of paper he had laid out for himself. With a sigh, he realized that he would only barely break even this month. Leaning his head back against the headboard, he felt disappointment. So much for being able to enjoy a young age, he thought to himself, and so much for planning out a life, if he could barely afford a rented existence.

He spread his hands behind himself on the pillow and laid his head down upon them. Underneath it were a few treasures he'd rather not have others know of, depictions of men in various poses and states of undress. He planned on burning them soon, lest they be found, and used as evidence against himself. James felt the phantom of the old disgust with himself whenever he took them out to examine them. He knew what a girl's lips and breasts felt like, from an escapade back in secondary school, and yet he couldn't derive satisfaction from them.

It was a foolish notion, and one that would get him in trouble, if he was caught. He'd deal with that another time.

XXXXXX

"'Join the Anti-Rail League.' Bloody hell, he's lost it," Oliver commented as he watched the double decker bus drive past. Ezra "Bulgy" Breedon glanced up at Oliver, who stood on the side of the bridge above the road, sunlight reflecting through the windshield off his mirrored sunglasses.

Duck shook his head from where he stood behind him. "He'd best wrap his rounds up soon. I've heard the rainy weather is becoming worse. It's going to be more so later."

Glancing up at the sunny sky, with bigger clouds drifting by, Oliver said, "You can blame the irregular fall weather patterns for it."

"You'll brook no argument with me there," Duck affirmed. Stepping more closely toward him, he added, "Donald tells me that it would be shrewd to lie low for a while. The bobbies are out in force, again."

Oliver frowned, but nodded his head. Lowering his voice, he added, "Door's open, tonight, if you want to lie low there. Toad's going to be out."

Duck smiled at the prospect. "How's your mum?"

Oliver smiled back and reached into his pocket. "Her postcard arrived from Tehran this morning. She seems to be getting on well with her sister, I suppose, which is progress." He shrugged. "Maybe in sixty years both sides of my family will accept the mutt, but here's to hoping."

Duck took the postcard and glanced over Mrs. Smith's elegant cursive. "Perhaps it's better if we count our blessings, then. At least Bulgy isn't harassing us any longer."

"But if he runs this afternoon…" Oliver tapped his fingers on the railing, "I'm going to report this, just in case."

Duck nodded, handing back the postcard. "I'm going to pass the word about the bobbies. Expect me by ten, latest."

"You got it," he replied, waving as he headed off toward the nearest signal box.

Later that day, Oliver's concerns were confirmed.

Rain fell in sheets within the marshaling yard, and Henry knew that he had no choice. Still, as he tugged on his fingerless leather gloves, he wished that he could light up a cigarette to help steady his nerves. He'd quit shortly before the incident involving the tunnel, when he had refused to move his engine out of it. Henry hated the rain, and back then, for good reason, given the flaws in his machine. Still, the Fat Controller gave him that week without pay, and he'd been lucky to keep his job.

"Once there was an engine attached to a train…" Rebecca muttered as she passed by him, lost in her thoughts.

Henry smiled to himself, and added, "Who was afraid of a few drops of rain."

She turned her head quickly at his voice, and he commented, "Though I wasn't actually afraid of the rain. Rather, I was concerned about an accident."

Rebecca blinked in surprise. "That was you?"

Henry smiled, turning his head to glance over his shoulder at his engine. "The experimental design wasn't fully tested on foul weather conditions. I had reason to be concerned, but not to that extent. I learned that the hard way." Turning back to look at her, he noticed that Rebecca was oddly silent. "Is there something on your mind?" Rebecca shook her head. Henry knew there was more to it but decided against pressing her for the moment – the truth would out eventually. "Come on, then."

The gathered group before them was small and divided accordingly by engine function. Emily had her ponytail between her hands and was squeezing out rainwater. Neville was in conversation with Molly and appeared to be testing his hearing aid. When she spoke and he could not hear her, he would raise the palm of his hand. Finally, with a look of annoyance, he would reach behind his ear, past the gray hair that covered it, and manually adjust it.

Dean Tenpenny stood with Sidney on the opposite side, his foot braced upon a crate, and his arms folded. Sidney was dousing a cigarette. The group looked over at Henry and Rebecca's approach. They stood and fell into line, however, when the Fat Controller approached on the opposite side, his assistant holding an umbrella over his head.

"A few things this afternoon," he began, "Emily will be taking the passenger train to Knapford today. Neville and Molly, you will be running the goods work." Each nodded at their respective duties, and he added to Tenpenny, "Dean, you will be accompanying Neville and Molly's team. Clear any and all environmental hazards needed." Dean nodded, his eyes tracing once over Molly.

"Henry and Rebecca, I have a special job for each of you. I've received word that Bulgy has encountered an issue on his bus line. I am sending you, Henry, to collect his passengers. Rebecca, you will accompany Henry as part of your training. Sidney, you will accompany them for part of the journey. I will need you to branch off, however, and assist the workmen with the clearing of debris from the mudslide. That will be all."

After he had departed, Dean was the first to make a comment, "So, Molly, do you think you'll be able to keep your eyes on the rails, this time?"

Molly stiffened at that, and heard Neville stepping to stand close to her. She replied, "How I conduct my work is not your business, Dean, provided I do it well."

"Without hindering me, of course," he responded, waving her words away, "Best we be off sometime today."

Molly stared coldly after him before turning to Neville, who nodded to her. They headed off, mud sloshing past their shoes.

"You think Bulgy would have learned," Sidney commented, rubbing at his black unshaved stubble.

Henry didn't bother answering, so Rebecca filled the silence. "Perhaps the lesson is hard to learn."

"How so?" Sidney asked, glancing over at her.

Rebecca glanced away, and, realizing the hole she had dug herself into, glanced back up at his curious expression. "Well, I suppose it's easier to fall into the habit of antagonizing someone, if it makes the antagonist feel stronger."

Henry glanced over at Rebecca at that and saw that she was becoming visibly uncomfortable as she spoke. Her eyes scanned back and forth, and her fingers kneaded at her uniform pants. He waved a hand to get Sidney's attention. "Let's just get this over with. The sooner we clean up Bulgy's mess, the sooner we'll be done for the day."

Emily's engine whistled in the distance as she passed by, her coaches' windows glowing yellow against the darkened landscape.

"On your right, Moll, careful," Neville instructed over the radio.

Glancing over, Molly's eyes widened at the rocks that tumbled loose from the face of the shelf above. "I see it, thank you," she replied quickly, leaning on the acceleration to outrun the falling stones that clanged off the edge of the tracks. Rain battered her engine's windows, her fireman keeping his head down.

"A little rain and the entire railway goes to shit," Neville grumbled, "We'll need to put that in the report."

"You'll have no argument from me," she replied, an undercurrent of annoyance in her tone. Her engine's light cast its beam forward, and she gasped at the angular object in the distance. "Neville, look out!"

Neville gasped over the radio, and tugged hard on the brake, his engine screeching to a halt. Molly gnawed at her lip in annoyance, and continued, tuning her radio to contact their teammate. "Dean, where are you?" She asked.

"Working on the line, why?" He inquired nonchalantly, the sound of something heavy breaking and grinding in the background.

"Neville is held up. Trees are blocking the line," Molly replied.

"He'll have to wait, then. I'm dealing with issues further down," he answered shortly.

"Neville's load can't wait," Molly pushed.

"Then you two need to put your heads together," Dean replied in annoyance, "With the Fat Controller having these trees cleared off, nothing is holding back the mud. By the time you make it down here, it will have flooded you out."

Molly sighed and halted her engine as she broke the connection. Contacting Neville, she said, "Well, we have a change of plans. Dean won't be down to help us."

Neville mumbled under his breath. "Not much else you can do then, Moll. We're stuck here until we move this off."

"Understood. I'll continue to the next station and drop the goods off. I'll find a turntable, and head back."

"Hopefully by then we'll have the track clear. I'll call you if anything changes," Neville affirmed.

Molly felt less than hopeful as she continued along, sending rainwater and mud flying. Licking at the inside of her mouth, she wondered just what diverted Tenpenny's attention so heavily.

She got her answer soon enough in the form of the warship diesel picking up fallen pine trees and crushing them down before piling them as a sort of wall against cascading mud down a slope. Dirty water ran downward. "So, think Neville still can't wait, twinkle toes?" He called out to her, derision in his tone. Molly didn't bother commenting.

At the station, workmen scrambled over to uncouple her trucks, with her calling out, "Could you hurry, please?"

"On it, ma'am!"

Reaching for her radio, Molly inquired, "Rocky, are you still here?"

"'Course, lass," he replied, his tone of voice husky. A signal lamp drew her attention. With a salute, the workman allowed her to leave. Driving over toward the breakdown train, its operator raising his hand in greeting at her, flicking away his cigarette.

"Neville needs help. He's stuck behind a few fallen limbs," she explained.

Rocky nodded, jumping down to hook up his breakdown train to Molly's engine. After getting the thumbs up from him, Molly set off.

Thundering over the tracks, Molly glanced about quickly, strands of her black hair falling over her eyes. The warship diesel flashed by in a blur. Wiping her hand over her brow, Molly waited for the rock wall to appear again. Rain and mud sloshed under the engine's wheels.

Her eyes widened as it came up close, with heavier stones falling to bounce and roll across the track. "Come on," she whispered, her head down, "I can do this." Concentrating her burst of speed, Molly sped past the rocks that fell over the track.

"Well done!" Neville called as Molly thundered past.

Easing up slowly, Molly sighed, and replied through the radio, "We're not finished yet. I saw why Dean won't be coming to help with clearing away the trees – he's holding back a mudslide."

"So, we either find our way around, or plow through?" Neville inquired.

"It depends upon how well you've managed to clear off the trees," Molly replied, the corner of her mouth turning up at the mental image.

"Ah, yes. I've become a superman in this last half hour, haven't you known?" Neville inquired dryly.

"Well then, it's a good thing I brought a friend," she replied as Rocky adjusted his crane to begin lifting off the fallen trees.

"I wouldn't expect any less of you, Molly," Neville replied with a smile.

Molly's radio crackled, and Dean's voice sounded. "Any trouble?"

"We're cleaning up over here," she replied, "After that rockslide, however, my path is blocked."

Dean swore, but replied, "I'll take care of it. Best you clear Neville's path before things get worse."

"Roger that," she agreed.

On a different branch line, Henry tried to hold back a laugh as he saw Bulgy's bus, its "Anti-Rail League" banner soaked, sticking up from out of the mud.

"Oh joy, the clean-up committee," Bulgy grumbled angrily, slamming shut the side of the bus, and wiping his hands on a rag. At the annoyed glances his passengers gave him, he exclaimed, "Well go on, then, if you're so inclined!"

The passengers quickly began to depart, leaving Bulgy to call after them, "Fine, then! Be that way! Let it be known, however, that apparently your driver is so incompetent that there needs to be another engine with him!"

Henry leaned out of his engine's cab to reply, "My engine isn't stuck in the mud, Bulgy!"

"The day isn't over, yet, Henry!" Bulgy called back. Turning to look at Rebecca, he added, "And I heavily doubt the mental clarity of those who want to ride with such an inexperienced driver!"

Bulgy's passengers yelled back insults, still nonetheless the crowd thinned, with considerably more going into Henry's coach than Rebecca's. Rebecca frowned at the insult, and called back, "Then we'll just see about that!"

After the guards blew their whistles, the engines set off. Rebecca's hands ran hard over the controls, forcing her engine forward at a throttle. Water and mud whipped out of the way. "Slow down, Rebecca," Henry instructed, "Keep steady."

"The sooner we get away from him, the better," Rebecca replied, her voice terse.

"And the faster you go, the easier it will be for you to wreck," Henry pushed, "Slow down. We aren't carrying freight." Rebecca hesitated, and sighed, her engine slowing down. "This isn't about your pride," Henry continued, "It's about getting these people home."

"They're already doubting my abilities," she replied crossly, "all based upon the word of a man who got them into an accident in the first place."

Henry chuckled, causing Rebecca to clench her fist over the panel in annoyance. "Passengers are fickle. You know this."

"It doesn't bode well for my career here," she muttered.

"What is concerning you?" Henry asked point blank, his eyes catching the motion of the swaying trees. He felt concerned for the animals that were living among them, but it couldn't be helped.

"It's nothing, I just wish to get this done properly," Rebecca replied quietly.

"You are doing well enough," Henry reassured, "We are running smoothly."

"Then there isn't more to say," she replied quickly. She gasped as her engine slid slightly.

"Mind the crankpin!" Henry exclaimed.

Rebecca gritted her teeth, and eased up, coasting along before braking. "My passengers won't like that," she muttered.

"You can't change that," Henry encouraged.

"I feel as if you're being overly positive. Pray tell why?" Rebecca inquired.

"Because you are continuing to sabotage yourself with how you speak."

Rebecca shrugged. "Simple. On my old railway, I got in trouble for the smallest mistakes. If I don't call myself out, then no one will."

"That's rather arrogant of you," Henry replied simply, and at Rebecca's intake of breath, he continued, "You think you know more than the person who is assigned to teach you. Shouldn't I be the one to do that?"

"Well, yes," she answered sheepishly.

Henry smiled. "You know what you're doing, Rebecca. Stop trying to convince yourself that you don't."

Rebecca was silent over the radio for a few moments before replying, "Right, then, let's finish up."

The engines moved quickly over the tracks, the rain battering them as they rolled off into the darkness.

The passengers chattered excitedly as they departed from their coaches, glad to be home. Henry let out a tired sigh, settling his elbow over the brake. Emily held her hat in the air to him, and he returned the salute. Rebecca gave a broad smile and allowed her hands to fall to her sides.

The house was quiet and dark behind the blackout curtains upon Henry's return, not that it much surprised him. Kicking off his boots on the floor mat, he shook out his umbrella before dropping it in the bucket. Static and distant murmuring filled the adjacent parlor. He found the sound comforting, up until he also heard a surprised grunt. "Gordon, is that you?" He called, hesitating for a moment.

"Were you expecting someone else?" A reply grumped to him. Henry, however, could sense the undercurrent of embarrassment as he walked into the room. Pausing in the doorway to get his bearings, he reached into his pocket, and flipped open his old lighter.

Gordon lay sprawled on the couch, still in his street clothes. Henry shook his head at the sight. "A bit rumpled there." At his partner's scowl, he walked over to sit on the chair beside him, shielding the lighter's flame with his hand.

"The weather?" Henry inquired as he registered the radio's chatter. "Were you concerned about me?"

"Considering the mudslides that have occurred recently, I have the right," Gordon replied with a defensive note, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes.

Flipping the lighter closed, Henry put it back in his pocket. "Fair warning, lamp's going on."

Gordon kept his head down as the lamp turned on, glancing up to see Henry. "You look messy," he commented dryly.

"Mud will do that," Henry responded, wiping at his cheek, "Nevertheless, it was worth it, if I could help stranded passengers get home."

"My hero," Gordon deadpanned, sliding forward and slipping his arm toward him. Henry rose from the chair to join him on the couch, sitting sideways on it. Leaning forward, Gordon placed his nose against Henry's shirt, breathing deeply.

Henry smirked. "Well, I was employed to save Bulgy, after all. He shouldn't cause any problems in the coming days."

Gordon grumbled into his chest, "Why did they bother sending you along?"

Henry chuckled and smoothed out his hair. "It would seem that they selected me just to annoy you, Gordon."

"Cute," he muttered, his other arm wrapping about Henry's waist possessively. Raising himself up, Gordon kissed him, Henry returning it, the two tired and moving slowly against one another.

When he hit the arm of the couch, Henry inquired, "Perhaps the bedroom is more appropriate?"

"This is our domain, Henry. Unless you had reservations?"

Henry shrugged. "Not until we have kids, anyway."

Yawning, Gordon replied, "I was under the impression that the potted plants were our children. Do be a dear and get around to naming them, will you?"

Henry smiled. "I'll see to it right off."

"And add a Violet in there," Gordon mumbled, "I wanted to name my daughter that."

Henry chuckled and patted his partner's shoulder. "Absolutely."

XXXXXX

The engine was a relic, James surmised as he walked down its length, his hand running along the side of the tender, nevertheless he couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment in being assigned to it.

"The old experiment," his new fireman said from beside him, "Not exactly the pride of the line."

James lowered his hand and grimaced at the oil on it. "It'll have to be cleaned, first." Glancing down, he propped his foot against the wooden brake block. "Can't help but wonder if they're trying to kill us with this thing."

"It's an old engine, James. Be happy that you have it," his fireman chided, "You have to start somewhere."

"'Starting somewhere' is beginning with an older machine, not a grease-streaked death trap!" James growled. Catching himself, he let out a sigh, though he continued to mentally compare himself against the railway's roster as he replied, "We'll clean her off today, and run our tests tomorrow. She's not going to die on me just yet."

James felt utterly disgusting as he cleaned the locomotive, and was covered in dirt, oil, and who knew whatever else. Still, as the engine became slowly glossier, James felt a certain amount of pride in it. Holding the dangling rang between his hands, he grinned up at it. "It's mine," he said to himself.

Slumping back against the wall of the shower, James wiped at his forehead with a tired sigh. Though at the train yard he was excited for the turn that his life had taken for the better, he felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Shutting off the water, he made his decision.

Water whispered against the shore of the reservoir as James dragged out a bag.

Dropping the bag on the ground, James tugged it back to dump out all his pictures and magazines. Reaching back into it, he pulled out a bottle of lighter fluid. Uncorking it, he dumped it over the pile. James replaced the bottle and reached into his coat pocket to pull out a lighter and lower it to the lighter fluid that had trailed loose. Dancing backward from the flame, he tugged back the bag, and put the lighter away.

James watched it burn, the orange flames reflected on his face, and the heat making his eyes water. Grasping a stick, he poked at the fire until it was down to ashes.

Turning, he quietly walked away.

XXXXXX

James leaned forward, and trailed kisses down Edward's bare back. Edward groaned, arching slightly upward against the pillow he was resting against. He loved the feeling of his partner's lips and tongue, wet and soft against his skin. James teasingly flicked out his tongue to trace patterns on his flesh. Edward's moan was cut short as James's hand clamped over his mouth.

"Not too loud, love, you'll wake the neighbors," James whispered in his ear. Edward's eyelids drooped as James ran his tongue over the shell of his ear. "We wouldn't want that, now, would we?"

Edward could only groan and lay his chin back down against the pillow as James slowly kissed downward, his free hand pinching and rolling Edward's nipple. With a last kiss on the small of his back, James sat up, reaching over to grab the hand cream they were employing as a lubricant. Edward squirmed into place as James did so, allowing James to grasp his ankle, and tug his legs slightly further apart. While he did initially blush at so openly exposing himself to James, he did feel anticipation in trying something new.

He hissed at the cool sensation as he felt a finger, coated in lubricant, gently begin to circle and tease at his asshole. He groaned as James withdrew his hand, only to give a cry as James squeezed his butt cheek. James chuckled, and let go, his finger tracing back toward Edward's hole.

Edward raised an eyebrow, and his eyes widened as a finger pushed into his ass. He hit one hand down against the bedspread as he reared upward with a muffled cry through James's hand. James smirked, and kissed his lover's hip as he cricked his finger inside of Edward.

Edward gnashed his teeth at the sensation. It felt good for just a moment, but James kept moving his finger, which made him uncomfortable. He was about to comment when James added another finger, causing Edward to bury his head in the pillow with a growl in his throat, though it was mainly from frustration. James, out of concern, immediately let go of his mouth. Edward turned his head to glance over his shoulder. "Seriously James, what are you doing back there?"

James blinked, caught off-guard. "Er, are you feeling any pleasure?"

Edward shook his head. "It's just odd, honestly."

James relaxed his hand, and gently tugged his fingers out with a soft chuckle. "Well, then, I'll stop. Wouldn't want to look silly."

Edward grinned at that. "I think we already did." James gave him a swat on the rear end at that, causing Edward's eyes to widen, and his breath to catch. "Something for another day, maybe," James commented with a raised eyebrow. Edward nodded, though it did give him a flutter in his chest.

XXXXXXX

"It can't be all that bad," Junior commented.

James rolled his eyes at his new fireman. "That's because you don't know any better." The trucks behind James's train were loaded with goods and banged along behind his engine. Glenda, his new guard, held them in place. "The trucks are notoriously difficult to keep in line."

"But they're just trucks—they can't think," Junior replied, licking his lips as he continued to feed coal, "Surely it's something the driver does, then."

James clapped him over the back of the head. "Shows what a beach bum like you knows. We aren't exactly working with state-of-the-art equipment, here. Why do you think I checked over the trucks before we left?"

"But didn't you have an accident with trucks before?" Junior asked, not bothering to look up.

James scowled, realizing what sort of hole he had lowered himself into. "Let's get this done, then, if you think you know so much better." While he didn't hate Junior, James found him only tolerable, compared to the previous fireman he had, in mannerisms. Still, he didn't leave him over something he couldn't control, unlike the previous man.

A horn blared, breaking James from his thoughts. He gasped and tugged hard on the brake as the warship diesel rolled by. "Oi, stay in your lane, Tenpenny!" James commanded over the radio.

"Mind your damn business!" Dean snapped, speeding forward.

James, however, kept a lingering look over the crane arm that swung off the warship diesel. "It's hard to do that, given that piece of shit you drive! Who the hell do you think you are?"

"James," Junior cautioned, "You've made your point."

"I should think not!" James retorted, and mumbled under his breath, "Not after Lady." He leaned close to the mouthpiece, and exclaimed, "If you don't like to hear the truth, then that's a shame!"

"Shut up, damn you!" Dean yelled in return, and taunted, "Or what's wrong, is little James afraid that the big bad diesel is going to take his job away, too? Nice to see how you show your true colors, coward!"

James fumed, and exclaimed, "Don't you dare call me a coward, you—"

"James!" Glenda's voice cut in, and he sighed in annoyance as the trucks banged behind the engine. "If you don't start paying attention, we will crash!"

Dean laughed into the radio. "I think I hear Mummy calling you! Good day!" The diesel turned and veered off. James glared after him, and was half compelled to tear after him, anyway. Choosing against it, however, he relaxed his grip, and allowed for the trucks to slow down, and fall back into order. He wasn't compelled to make a fool of himself again.

"Why don't you just let it go?" Junior asked as he took out his sandwich and sat down beside James on the footplate.

"Self-preservation," James replied, shutting his tin lunchbox with a decisive slam, "He's harassed two of us steam drivers to the point of quitting. Might as well fight back in any way I can."

"Er, sure," Junior replied, "It just seems a little petty."

James shrugged, glancing over at the engine's dials, the afternoon sunlight reflected in them. "I don't trust him, and I'd rather he not get on my case, as well."

"But he wasn't doing that," Junior pointed out.

"You'll just need to learn how things are here," James explained, "Most of us have lost jobs to men like him in the past."

"I suppose," Junior replied, his tone unconvinced. Taking another bite of his sandwich, he stared out at the apple orchard. Trevor went by slowly on his traction engine underneath trees of slowly ripening apples. "It is lovely here," he commented.

James smiled at that and said nothing.

XXXXXXX

James yawned from where he sat at his desk, the lamp bathing his face in a pale-yellow light. His chin was braced on one hand, his expression tired.

His engine was running in a manner he considered to be passable, and the pony truck was a good asset. Still, he felt ridiculous in not being able to catch up with the other engines in the yard, particularly the diesels.

Frankly, he felt like the assignment was just a way for his employers to throw him a bone, and it was getting old at the pub after work to have one of his co-workers throw an arm over his shoulders, and jam his sloshed face into his, and call him, "Jimmy, m'boy!"

James put his head in his hand and rubbed at his eyes. He hoped that this wouldn't be the rest of his life. He knew he was above those unwashed, common sods, he just had to be, with the sort of fools that they made of themselves.

Lowering his hand, he picked up the pen again, and ran it over the expenses in his month's budget, calculating it against the hand adding machine he had set up. James's eyes widened, and he glanced over the data again.

With a smile, he let out a content sigh, and leaned back his chair, his feet propped against the desk with his arms extended. He had finally managed to have some savings. It was paltry, but it was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took obscenely long to write. Sorry about that. I tend to have trouble writing action scenes, which this one had. 
> 
> I wanted to do more with Molly, rather than just make her Thomas's girlfriend, and do nothing else. Henry's characterization in this is more consistent with his classic portrayal, in that he is more cynical, though not timid. I also am trying to add more of James's past into the chapters as this goes along. Junior being a "beach bum" is a reference to his portrayal in Thomas and the Magic Railroad.
> 
> Don't poke the dragon, Jimmy.


	4. Chapter 4

"Any trouble getting in?" Oliver asked as Duck hung his soaking wet coat on the rack.

Duck smiled. "Thankfully, no, though I would appreciate a warm bed tonight."

Oliver returned it. "I can offer that. What's in the bag?"

Duck chuckled as he reached into the brown bag he had set down near the coat rack. The bag was a little damp and wrapping rustled as Duck lifted out a package. Tugging back the wrapping, he said, "It's always easy to ply you with food."

Oliver sniffed, and his mouth watered at the smell of coffee cake. He found he couldn't disagree with Duck as he led him upstairs. Oliver's room was decorated conservatively, with a scenic painting of sunshine dancing on a pond hanging on one wall. Duck gratefully sat down upon the bed and broke the cake in half. Oliver smiled as Duck deposited his half into his hands, the two eating in silence as Duck leaned his cheek against Oliver's shoulder. The rain rhythmically beat on the roof above.

"I hope the club isn't raided tonight," Duck commented quietly.

Oliver frowned. "I know. I tried to warn as many as I could. I passed word along to Thomas, and he promised to get the message to Tidmouth."

Duck nodded at that. For a long time, given the incident with Diesel, he had only trusted Edward with the knowledge of his relationship with Oliver. He hadn't much love for James, Gordon, or Henry, however his friendship with Edward had thawed that, somewhat. "We're all afraid, Montague," Edward had reminded him, "We need to keep together, on this, as there are so few of us, already."

"How's the wood carving been going?" Oliver asked.

Duck smiled and reached into his pocket, procuring a small bird. It was narrow, its wings folded against its sides. Its eyes were big and stared out from each side of its profile. "Not very good yet, but I'm getting there, I think." He held it up for Oliver to contemplate its sides.

Oliver smiled. "Your dad did you well with gifting that pocketknife."

Setting down the bird on Oliver's nightstand, Duck glanced up at him. "Have you been occupying your free time?"

Oliver smiled down at him. "Yes. I've taken up some reading." He gestured to a small stack of books on a shelf. "Silly adventure books for now, but I suppose it's better than nothing."

"As long as you're reading," Duck replied, taking another bite, "You'll get back into the swing of it, the more time you have." And as long as Oliver was kept away from the drink, Duck thought quietly to himself.

The wax paper crinkled in Oliver's hand, and he laid it aside. He reached toward Duck, and ran his fingers over his red hair, gathering it and allowing it to fall. Duck leaned into his touch and sighed, smiling at him. Picking up Oliver's other hand, he kissed it. Oliver dropped his hand, grasping Duck's shoulder as he moved forward to kiss him.

Duck leaned his head back, the palms of his hands on the bedspread as Oliver kissed down his neck. He hissed at the cool air as Oliver reached under his shirt and brought it up. Leaning down, Oliver licked and teased at Duck's stomach, working up to kiss at the middle of his chest. "You're so warm," Duck whispered.

Oliver smiled. "Lie down, love. I will warm you up."

Duck complied, sighing against the soft bedspread. Oliver ran his fingers under his shirt. Duck groaned, sliding further into his grip. "Please…"

Oliver reassuringly kissed his cheek. "Patience, my love."

Duck ran his hands down Oliver's sides, pausing at the small of his back.

The first time he had seen Oliver half-naked, Duck noticed a white scar just below Oliver's right ribcage.

Duck said nothing on the scar, but questions weren't needed, not given his lover's hesitation. Glancing up at Oliver then, he had met a nervous expression, bordering on uncomfortable. Oliver's hand ran over the surface of the bed, and Duck gently grasped it. Oliver had then lowered his eyes, and with a downcast gaze, lowered his mouth toward Duck's.

Duck, however, caught his jaw, and stopped him. Oliver stopped, though whether it was out of puzzlement or concern, Duck wasn't sure, and didn't want to know. Instead, he dropped his hand to guide Oliver by the shoulder to lay down. Resting beside him, Duck ran his thumb over Oliver's cheek. He could feel him shaking under his hand. "Oh Oliver," Duck whispered.

"Wasn't your fault," Oliver muttered, glancing down.

"Wasn't yours, either," Duck replied gently, snuggling up against him.

Oliver had been hesitant in his growing closer to Duck. They'd had their past together on the previous railway, with their partnership being strong in effectively hauling goods and passengers. The unique shape of Duck's engine tended to bring him more attention. That was, until, he had received his orders to travel to a different railway.

"This what you want?" Oliver asked. Duck nodded, and slipped backward on the bed, spreading his legs for him. He gently ran his hand over Oliver's chest, brushing the fabric on it. Duck's green gaze was heady with desire, and Oliver grasped his hand to hold up. Oliver pressed his lips gently to the palm. Duck groaned from the contact, and Oliver smiled.

Placing his palm to the crotch of Duck's pants, he began to rub it in circles. Duck moaned at that, his hands grasping at the sheets beneath him. He smiled, teasingly slowing down his speed, causing Duck to hang his head backward with a slight gasp. "Moan for me," Oliver whispered.

Duck complied, his hips bucking. Oliver smiled down at him. He enjoyed drawing such soft noises out of Duck, and the fact that he was the cause of them. It was only on occasion that Duck was the one on top, and this was not one of them. Oliver enjoyed that, as his previous partner much enforced the idea of Oliver being submissive, and not always with Oliver's agreement.

A thought passed Oliver's mind for a moment upon hearing the sound. In a previous relationship, the unclicking of a belt buckle carried a different connotation, usually that of the taste of a leather glove in his open mouth, and a husky voice, slurred by alcohol, saying in his ear, "It's been too long, Ollie."

It was not morning cuddling that Oliver had shared with his past partner, rather it was groping and fondling. "Don't know what the hell is wrong with you,"

"Good question, Derek," Oliver hissed in response, "considering that you've also been in this bed."

Derek smiled in an oily manner at him. "While I'll give you that, at least I can enjoy a nice lay with a bird. You can't." Oliver lowered his head at that. Derek stroked the back of Oliver's neck. Taking strands of Oliver's hair in his fist, he brought up Oliver's face for a kiss, gently biting down upon his lip. "The offer stands as it is, Ollie." A finger slipped between Oliver's lips, and he tasted the acrid surface of leather once more. He glanced up at Derek, who continued, "I know you'll make the right choice." Leaning down, he kissed Oliver on top of the head before getting up to leave the bedroom.

Oliver leaned back against the headboard, anger curling in his gut. Well then, he thought, apparently Derek had his future planned out for him, already. He couldn't abide that, lest he end up sealing himself in a trap. Derek had already made him feel a dependency on him, if only emotionally. Oliver felt foolish for allowing himself to be dug so deeply into this, with Derek being utterly serpentine. The attention, while at first appreciated, was obsessive.

Most notably was Derek's glove in his mouth. Ever since that first sloppy, alcohol-fueled kiss, he'd tasted that leather in his mouth, and knew what it meant, sexually. Duck had once covered Oliver's mouth while they were fooling around, and Oliver had frozen with a muffled cry, his eyes wide with fear.

Duck, in surprise, had lowered his hand, and asked, "What's wrong, love?" When Oliver refused to respond, he reached forward, and touched his shoulder.

Oliver slowly raised his eyes and gave a heavy sigh. "Old flame of mine."

Duck nodded and gave a sad smile. "I'll be more careful, then."

It shocked Oliver when his old flame appeared again on the NWR. His reunion with Derek, as it were, was neither personal nor romantic. It had been his hearing Derek's voice over the radio chatter, using the call sign Diesel. Oliver had felt a shudder at that.

Duck had cursed himself, more than once, for leaving Oliver behind on the old GWR railway. He hadn't been able to remain with him due to his change in position. Oliver faulted him not for it – ignoring an assignment could cost him his job. However, Duck still felt guilt over leaving him alone.

The attraction had been there, certainly, though neither man had seen fit to pursue it. With the GWR's steam engines already teetering on the brink of being put out of commission to begin with, there was no point in flirting with disaster.

Duck had attempted to keep in touch with Oliver after leaving, mostly through mail correspondence, sometimes via telephone. Oliver's tone, despite his attempting to sound optimistic, became progressively bleaker, leaving Duck worried, and upset at the fact that he continued to, by contrast, receive steady work. The last phone call was ended with Oliver saying, "Don't worry about me."

Duck had found himself haunted by those words. He'd attempted to contact Oliver multiple times but found no response. It disturbed him, in retrospect. The same man he'd joked with over the radio, spent too much time shooting the breeze in the locker room with, and met with for drinks at the pub had vanished without a trace.

There was, however, an article in the news, printed a few days later, detailing a theft of an engine, and the driver's name had caught Duck off-guard, his morning tea wobbling in its saucer. He'd had to re-read the name to register the news properly. "Oliver." The word had left his mouth in a whisper. Genuine fear for his friend had chilled him as Duck realized how desperate Oliver had become.

Hungrily, he'd scanned newspaper articles for a week, and then two. Nothing. Time elapsed as usual, and he kept his thoughts to himself, though rumors had abated on Sodor about the story. "Did ye know him?" Donald had asked him.

"I used to work with him for a while, yes," Duck had replied, swiftly changing over the subject, "It's a sorry state to see this having to be the way for rail workers to keep their employment." Donald had colored at that, but Duck's sympathetic expression smoothed his feathers.

Fear for the worst, however, had coiled in Duck's gut. If there was no report, not even of an arrest, then it was possible that the engine was lost, and that would have left Oliver and the others dead. He didn't want to think on never seeing Oliver's smiling face again.

Donald had been angry one morning, pacing outside the locker room. "When I find him, I'll kill him! What the bloody hell was Douglas thinking, running off like that?"

Duck waved a hand at him as he headed past, his canteen in the other. "Just be glad that he returned, Donald, and bearing gifts, at that. We've needed a new engine to help."

Donald grimaced, sliding his hands in his pockets. "I just wish he would tell me these things."

Duck manually began to crank the pump. "I don't agree, either. Nevertheless, the Fat Controller will resolve the situation." Donald scowled at him, and Duck glanced away. He wasn't willing to place himself in the middle of a sibling disagreement.

A whistle sounded, and Donald commented, "Here it comes, the new engine."

Duck glanced up, and gasped. The canteen slipped from his hand, falling to ground and sending water splattering everywhere. Donald glanced over his shoulder at the noise, and Duck immediately saved face by kneeling to pick it up by its strap. Hanging his head out the side of his engine's cab, Oliver called, "We're home!"

What Oliver first noticed about Duck was how little he seemed to have changed from his time on the GWR. He still dressed immaculately, and carried himself in the proper fashion, with that optimism about him. He still smelled of the milk he put in his tea, and of the soot from coal. He was still innocent to him, by appearance.

Duck's optimism had attracted Oliver to him, back then, but he knew better than to attempt to pursue such a thing. It was far too risky – he didn't want to be the reason for Duck losing his job, not when Duck still had a chance of getting out of this comfortably. As time elapsed with Diesel, Oliver thought that it was better that he never did become involved with Duck. Duck didn't need someone who had his brains fucked out just so he could tell if he was still alive.

Leather and gasoline, Oliver associated most heavily with Diesel. It hung about him in a musk, the heavy gasoline from his motorcycle, and the leather of his gloves. It was the same leather that Diesel filled Oliver's mouth with to keep their from being discovered while they fucked. That was, until its function slipped when Diesel became interested in more fucking than talking. He had to have switched his gloves by that point, considering where they had been.

The leather fingers were always there, between Oliver's teeth with an acidic taste, one that he could not stand in retrospect. Their being in his mouth preceded sex most often, though the leather also tended to slide over his genitalia. The grip was possessive, though not painful, with him whispering in his ear, "You're mine."

It wasn't so much that Diesel had trouble with the word "no," rather he had a different opinion. Given the hard times the GWR had fallen on, Oliver was more prone to drinking in those days. Diesel was all too willing to oblige him the indulgence, leaving Oliver waking up the next day with a hangover in Diesel's bed, and the specters of his own sensitive areas being touched and fondled.

He hated it, and he hated himself more so. Oliver lost weight in those days, from the stress of the situation mainly, and from the lack of desire. He was losing his job, as well as his integrity. With no other decision left, he had to resort to theft. There were concessions he did make for his former lover, while sober, that he later regretted, even after the physical gratification that he himself had experienced.

In retrospect, Oliver would grin at it, and shake his head in embarrassment. Duck would quietly listen, his cigar held in the air, with blue smoke trailing out of it. He never returned that grin, and never laughed, as it would feel as he was laughing at him. That was why Duck's gifts of food meant so much to him. It was his kindness, as well as the comfort given by it. Oliver enjoyed being able to eat again, and with someone that he cared for.

For Duck's part, it was hard to reconcile his anger. He couldn't bring up what had happened to anyone, lest Oliver himself be arrested for being involved with Diesel. Nevertheless, the damage remained. Duck knew that he had a bias, in that he little blamed Oliver for what had happened, voluntarily being in a relationship with that man when he was at his lowest point. Still, it did frustrate him that Oliver never thought to draw a line when Diesel took him on his motorbike far from where they could be heard.

But then, most things typically considered romantic usually weren't. Duck had, on more than one occasion, thought back on when he had worked alongside Oliver initially, and his attraction to the other man, based upon his hard work and cleverness, was formed. He hadn't dared to pursue it, though the thought of being at Oliver's side was enticing. Regardless, he had to leave for his next job. He didn't condemn Oliver for what he had pursued, but Duck knew that he wouldn't have followed the same route, as his morals were more dictated by legality. Well, he thought to himself as he felt Oliver's fingers brush against his clothing, save one.

Oliver was a different man than he had previously been, in more ways than one. He had grown rougher, and more cynical. He was also more tired and withdrawn.

Still, though, Duck had relished their first kiss, short though it had been. It had been near Christmas, with Duck taking down a wine bottle to celebrate the occasion of his first Christmas once again with his friend. He had considered downing the drink early to give himself some sort of liquid courage, but ultimately had decided against it. Bringing Oliver's glass over to him, he had quietly said, "We have much to speak on."

The opportunities that they talked over, all of which were lost, were sociological and economical, fading into the background. Duck put down his glass, and said quietly, "Oliver, there is something else I wish to talk with you about."

Oliver glanced up at that, meeting his eyes, and in the quietness of the moment between them, Duck knew. After a few more moments of silence, Duck stood, the blood roaring in his ears, and walked slowly over to Oliver, who remained frozen to the spot. Duck gently extended a hand toward him and stroked his dark hair just once. Oliver responded by setting aside his wine and rising, his hand at Duck's waist. Duck glanced up in surprise, their breaths mingling. Oliver's lips were cracked and dry against his, but there was a taste of the wine, and a gentleness. He had done this before. As Duck drew out, Oliver laid him against his shoulder. Closing his eyes, Duck allowed Oliver to hold him.

Duck groaned as Oliver stroked his inner thigh. Oliver experimentally pinched it, causing a small hiss from Duck. He smirked, taking the skin again, and pinching it, leaving a dark pink mark. Duck lurched his teeth gritted against a cry. Duck had learned in the past to not call Oliver "Ollie" as well, given how it was Diesel's preferred pet name for him.

While Oliver was tempted to completely undress Duck, he decided against it, preferring to play with him with his clothing askew. Duck, being so used to order, raised an eyebrow at his appearance. Oliver chuckled, and Duck smiled. "Oh, what am I going to do with you?"

"For now, that isn't any of your concern," Oliver replied, lowering his head to run his tongue up and down the length of Duck's penis. He teasingly kissed along the base before flicking his tongue back over it. Grasping it, he began to stroke him, gently at first, before picking up speed. Precum seeped from Duck's slit, and Oliver lowered his head to lick at it, his eyes not leaving Duck's.

"Oh, dearest," Duck moaned wantonly, his hands grasping at the air. Oliver grasped them and squeezed them before dragging Duck closer to himself. Duck moaned, his eyes rolling in his head as he came.

"You've made such a mess, Montague," Oliver teased as Duck panted. Seizing his hips, he drove into him. Grunting, he chuckled, "What'll I do to a dirty man like you, huh?" Duck could only groan in response, pleading for Oliver to move faster, and drive harder against him. Oliver chuckled, only to groan, "Oh, fuck…" Raggedly, he breathed as he came, Duck groaning. Oliver leaned forward, braced his hands on Duck's thighs, and began to kiss down his left leg, ending at the juncture between thigh and groin.

Lazily, Duck lolled his head against the pillow, and smiled at Oliver. Oliver raised his head and rubbed it against Duck's raised knee. "I adore you."

XXXXXXX

The flat was temporary and packed among others on a narrow walkway. Gordon grimaced at the ugly green exterior as he wrapped on the door. Anticipation still built within him. He hadn't seen Scott in quite some time, anyway, leaving alone the content of the upcoming discussion.

The smell of tobacco hit him as the door opened, and Scott appeared, the exterior light reflecting off the lenses of his reading glasses. "Brother," he greeted, a pipe held to the side in one hand, "Welcome." Standing aside, he waved Gordon in.

The setting was sparse, with the decorations being a few pieces of furniture and few tasteless decorations. Running a hand through his graying brown hair, Scott commented, "At least it doesn't smell of piss in here. Last place was far worse."

"Surely, you could have asked for better accommodations?" Gordon inquired.

Scott waved a hand dismissively. "Not when I'm staying in an area for such a short amount of time. I don't mind the lack of posh interiors, but I do mind the lack of basic human decency." Scott adjusted his reading glasses, the cuffs of his shirt undone.

Gordon shook his head at him, and joked, "Taking leave of formality, brother? You must think so well of me."

"Where else would I?" Scott replied with a brush off, puffing on his pipe. Gordon scowled at it, and Scott chastised, "You can't expect everyone to accommodate you. Now then," he moved toward a small cabinet, "Brandy?"

"Yes, thank you." Pouring two tumblers, Scott led him into the sitting room. The furniture was hard, prompting Gordon to adjust his position a few times.

"So," Scott puffed on his pipe, "I have heard that you have become involved with a man on your railway." The disapproval was plain to hear in his voice.

Gordon didn't flinch. "Yes, Henry Payne. You're aware of who he is."

"He needs no introduction," Scott affirmed, "Regardless, what concerns me about this is your lack of judgment. Do you not realize how dangerous this is, Gordon?"

Gordon scoffed. "You've reminded me of such a thing for decades."

"Then why start now?" Scott asked, narrowing his eyes.

Gordon set down his glass so heavily that the liquid within sloshed. "Because, Scott, I have been existing like a monk for decades. You may mean well with your instruction for my never to have homosexual relations, but that isn't living, particularly when the Yanks and the Soviets could easily destroy our planet anyway with a push of a button."

"Living before you die," Scott shook his head at that with a lopsided smile. "You know that I accept you as you are."

"I never contested that point," Gordon reminded him, "However, I can't abide by cutting myself off from human contact. I'm not a machine."

"And if you're caught?" Scott pressed.

"Then I will take the consequences as they are."

Scott's head snapped forward, and he shot up from his chair. "No!" Gordon stared at him in surprise. Scott swallowed to regain his composure, but his voice sounded quiet. "Not after I protected you for so many years. Not when," he lowered his hand, and grasped Gordon's shoulder, "you're the only family I have."

Gordon lifted a hand, and tightly grasped Scott's. The two remained in silence for a few moments until Gordon replied, "This changes nothing. I will go my own way with this."

"Off a cliff, you will," Scott warned him, dropping his hand.

Gordon reached behind his ear at that, and removed a lock of hair, the tips of it gray. "Scott, I'm not a young man any longer. I can't remain alone forever."

"Simple, find a wife," he replied, taking a drink of the brandy.

Gordon scowled at him. "You think yourself humorous."

"In some circles, I'm regarded as such," Scott said dryly. Sobering up, he placed his brandy aside, and folded his hands. "I never hated you for your sexuality, but I'm trying to think practically. You did tell me that you once wanted children. Do you truly think that Henry and you would be allowed to adopt?"

Gordon lowered his eyes and thought of the houseplants. "No."

"And for that, I am truly sorry," Scott replied sympathetically.

"I can't accept this," Gordon replied, glancing back up at him, "I know that I'll never have children, but I can't take this deprivation." He shook his head. "It's childish of me to say, but it is utterly unfair."

"I know, brother, I know." Gordon wished that Scott hadn't said that. His brother meant well, but he could never truly know how he felt, seeing others enjoy something that he would either not experience, or had to keep clutched closely to himself.

Sensing his unhappiness, Scott opted to change the subject. "How did Henry come into the possession of a bastardized version of your engine?" Scott inquired, moving his pipe to one side of his mouth.

"Employment wasn't easy for him to come by, not that that's much of a surprise, these days," Gordon replied, taking out his pocket watch, and beginning to adjust it. "His mother and father were quite ill, and he was attempting to support them in any way that he could do so."

"He could have turned to legitimate means," Scott commented.

Gordon shook his head. "He lacked the connections." The pocket watch spun under his hand. Scott couldn't know, and couldn't understand, the pain that Henry had felt. Losing his mother was hard enough, but his father's rapid deterioration was far worse. Henry had taken up smoking, back then, to relieve the stress, but it had barely worked.

How could he tell Scott how Henry broke down in tears while telling Gordon the truth? That how his father had given up on his will to live, finding that his son was not as important to him as his late wife? That how Henry's sitting by his bedside, clutching at his hand, and begging him not to leave him was for naught?

Gordon cried out as his pocket watch slipped out of his fingers to clatter into the decorative bowl. He stared listlessly down at it, feeling, for a moment, utterly without direction in the conversation. He glanced up at Scott, who stared quietly at him, the pipe smoking in his hand.

Scott shook his head at him. "You have it bad for him."

"If that is a point of contention between us, then I'm sorry," Gordon replied, finding his voice again, "I won't leave him. I can't.'

"Even knowing what will be done to you if you are both caught in public?" Scott asked quietly.

"Even then," Gordon replied, "it will have been worth it. I would do anything in my power to keep them from getting their hands on Henry."

"Why?" Scott asked, waving his hand for him to continue. "Argue your point for me. Why is Henry so important to you?"

"Because he gave me someone to live for outside of you," Gordon said plainly. Scott's breath caught at that, and Gordon pressed on, "Forgive me if I sound weak, but that image of our childhood home, flattened by the Blitz, with no one for us to cling to but our brothers Reginald and Edmund…" His voice trailed off, his gaze becoming distant, "And the memory of the war," he fished his pocket watch out of the bowl to put away, "is something that I cannot shake, try as I may."

"And that fear bleeds into your feelings for Henry," Scott surmised.

Gordon nodded, and a note of sadness entered his voice. "It frightens me to think that I may one day wake up, and something will happen to him. Something almost did, with the Flying Kipper."

Scott reached one hand forward and grasped his wrist. "Gordon, you can't live like that. It isn't rational."

Gordon tried to shake him off. "Scott, I have been for years. You and I know how cold I am. You've chastised me on that before." At Scott's silence, he continued, "Henry has, in his own way, changed that."

"Are you still having nightmares?" Scott asked.

"Yes," he replied flatly, "Henry wakes me from them, now." There were so many occasions he couldn't explain to Scott. There were the times when Gordon had exiled himself to the couch, fearing he would wake Henry, only for Henry to sit with him, and try to calm him. There was Henry wiping the tears away from his eyes and reassuring him that he was alive – the war was long over. And there was the time when Henry pulled him back from the stairs when he had been sleepwalking. Henry had been too tired to lead him back to bed then, instead slumping down to sit against the wall with his head on Gordon's shoulder.

Scott paused, and contemplatively took a long toke on his pipe. Lowering it, he blew smoke out from between his lips, and said, "You should have known better than to ask my permission, seeing as how I can't very well control you." Gordon felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "But," Scott continued, "if he does anything to hurt you, Gordon, he will have me to contend with."

Gordon laughed at that. "Scott, he is the farthest thing from harmful, I assure you."

Scott smiled, and dumped out the tobacco leaves from his pipe into a small bowl. "I only wish to ensure that my little brother is safe. Now then, you've come all this way. I may as well feed you."

It was after dark by the time Gordon returned.

Gordon tossed his gloves on the side table in the entryway. While the discussion with Scott had held its disappointments, at least the fact remained that his brother remained on his side. Light poured into the hallway from the kitchen. "Henry?"

"Yes?" Gordon raised an eyebrow at his partner's voice. Henry sounded off in a way, in that his tone was oddly hollow.

Thinking nothing of it at first, he continued, moving into the hallway, "I've spoken to Scott. He approves of us."

"Oh, that's nice, I suppose." Gordon frowned at Henry's tone. It was if he was not paying attention to what was being said, which contradicted his previous nervous demeanor about Gordon's meeting with Scott. Henry had roughly embraced him before he left, burying his head in his shoulder.

Gordon paused in the doorway.

Henry stood beside the sink, his arms folded as he leaned back against the counter. His face was pale white, and his eyes looked red and puffy. A dark expression was on his face. He said, "I found a dead cat in the garden today. Someone slit her throat and dumped her there." His tone was grave, and Gordon noticed Henry's lighter resting on the counter beside him. It was open, and a flame was burning. "I cleaned the blood off her and buried her in the park. Poor dear's eyes were still open." He closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over them.

Gordon felt cold at that, and moved toward him, knowing well that the feline's corpse was a warning. He wished that he had been the one to find it, as opposed to an animal lover like Henry. What chilled him considerably was that Henry occasionally left scraps for the local strays, as the full-time commitment for a pet was out of the question.

Henry reached over and closed the lighter. Grasping onto Henry's arms, Gordon eased him to sit down. Henry lowered his head to rest against Gordon's chest. "You said that Scott approved of us?"

"He did," Gordon confirmed.

"I'm glad," Henry replied. Gordon kissed his cheek, and Henry lifted a hand to entwine their fingers.

XXXXXXX

The fire wasn't the end of it, and James should have known better to think otherwise.

However, he had been right to trust his instincts in burning the magazines, given how his landlord, Wheeler, within a few weeks had called for a search of his tenants' flats for contraband. Standing against the doorjamb, and still wiping at a brush of soot on his face, James commented in annoyance as the balding man puttered about, "Can we hurry this along a tad? I'd like a shower sometime today."

Wheeler's spectacles flashed at him as he looked up, but he otherwise said nothing, and continued with his search as usual. James found he could hardly stand the man, the more he lived in his flat, despite his low price. The old man was nosy, too much for his own good. He'd felt his eyes on his back a few times as he passed his office, for one.

For another, the contraband, according to his neighbors, that was found as a tube of lipstick that a fourteen-year-old girl had and a box of condoms. While Wheeler had firmly instructed the former's parents to have a stern talking to about her, the latter was left with an eviction notice.

When Wheeler picked up James's teddy bear, a relic he'd taken with him voluntarily from his home upon his parents kicking him out, to shake for hidden contraband, he disliked him. When Wheeler had glanced over at a pair of James's scissors on his vanity, and back at the bear contemplatively, James despised him. Thankfully, his childhood toy was left without mutilation, though after Wheeler left, James subconsciously snuggled his oldest friend to him while reading his mail.

He'd decided that the red light district was no good. It was too risky. The seedier clubs and pubs were a tentative location. That was around the time that James began to understand the romanticism of pub life. The looks were discreet and had to be. It was shared glances in reflections, sometimes in the window, others in the bathroom mirror. James was careful, however, not to take his eyes off his drink, and to water it down.

His first kiss was with a man a few years older than him and was harried in an alley. James was utterly nervous, despite himself, and fumbled. The man, Chester, was kind and reassuring in how he stroked his cheek, allowing for a few more attempts. The hand was calloused, he recalled, with how rough it brushed against his face. "You're lucky, you know. Not all blokes would be gentle with you our first time." James quickly thanked him, but Chester held up a hand. "Mate, what I mean is be careful out there. It's too dangerous to get involved too deeply with anyone." He walked away, his bulky form swallowed into the darkness. James never saw him again.

He'd been right to be advised, however, as the next man was rougher, yanking him and straining the fabric of his sleeve. Stomping on his foot, James managed to wriggle loose from the intoxicated man, and stumble off.

For what it was worth, his first time was in a bed in someone else's flat, rather than a flop house, though it was awkward. The man this time was called William and was around James's age. He was scrawny, and inexperienced as James was, though he appeared enamored with James's looks. "You're lovely, you know, with how thin you are. And that hair…" He traced his fingers through James's hair.

James was nervous about having to take the lead, as it were, and his performance wasn't stellar. While William was ultimately satisfied, James was content not to see him again out of embarrassment.

James glanced over at his old teddy bear, which was propped on the nightstand, and reached over to stroke its fur.

It was better not to sleep alone.

XXXXXXX

"Damn low lives," James growled as he scrubbed at the crusted egg on the townhouse's first floor windows. He and Edward had been awoken the night prior by sound of something hitting the window downstairs.

James had made to get up, but Edward had held him back, hissing, "It's not the same as before. You don't know who's out there. Wait." James had snarled in annoyance at him in a low tone, only for Edward to hold on more tightly to him with a glare.

James acquiesced, and the window did not give, however the next day he found shards of eggshells and the remains of egg yolk plastered against the windows. James had volunteered to take care of it, otherwise he would have started an argument with Edward, which he was not in the mood for. Running the soaking wet towel over the egg, however, he quietly acknowledged Edward's point that yes, it had been different that night, when they had nearly been caught in James's flat.

It started with a bang of something flung against a wall.

James's eyes flew open, and he glanced over at Edward, who was blinking blearily, looking about for the noise. Muffled shouting sounded, and Edward twisted his head about to look at James, who shook his head. Reassuringly, he patted his shoulder. The two lay quietly, clinging to each other as running feet sounded outside, with angered exclamations sounding from other flat occupants. James cursed himself for having Edward over, though they had both been so tired, and he had thought that the domestic quarrels had died down for a time.

A knock sounded on the exterior door of James's flat.

Edward trembled underneath the covers. James raised a finger to his lips. Sitting up, James reached behind him, finding the lever on his bedroom window. Deftly, he unlocked it. Edward's gaze followed his movements, and he gave a slight nod. Letting go, James leaned back down over him. James cupped the side of Edward's jaw, bringing him close for a kiss. Edward's hand came up, deepening the kiss. Pulling out of it, James stared down at him, hoping that it wouldn't be the last time he would see that face.

James grasped the sheet, and pulled it over Edward, covering him completely. Edward shifted to lie on his side. James knelt and grasped his pajama shirt and pants, which were bundled on the floor at his side. "I'm coming! Hold your damn pants!" James snapped at the incessant knocking. He gave up on the buttons, and stumbled out of his cubbyhole of a bedroom, pulling the door shut.

He stubbed his toe on a loose floorboard, which only served to make him angrier. James yanked the door open. "What?!"

His neighbor, a Mr. Stover, was paused in his pajamas, his hand raised mid-knock. "Er…" He said in surprise.

"Well Stover, out with it!" James growled, one hand fumbling with the buttons on his pajama top.

"The Carmichaels are at it again. I say we should do something about it."

"Oh, that's it?" James grumbled in annoyance, "Why is there a 'we' in this? They beat the shit out of each other every week, anyway."

"Well, that is—"

"Because I'm the confirmed bachelor that you can drag out of doors to help with your problem!" James hissed.

"Certainly, you could be more useful to the community," Stover broke off as James snorted. "What?"

James leaned on the doorjamb in annoyance. "Because it's my night off from hauling the very same trucks of shit that you base your pathetic livelihood on! Can't you let a bloke shag his bird in peace?!"

His neighbor looked taken aback for a moment, and James could tell that the man was silently fuming. "Fine, then," he hissed, and walked away. James decisively shut the door and locked it. Leaning against it, however, he took a heavy breath to collect himself. He stumbled tiredly back over to the bedroom door and shouldered it open.

Edward lay still under the sheet, turned toward the wall. James tugged the sheet off Edward, who stared up nervously at him. James smiled, and kissed his cheek. Edward slowly smiled back, scooting over to make room for him. "Are you neighbors always this nosy?" Edward mumbled.

"No, but they are enough for me to consider other lodgings." He brushed at Edward's gray hair. "If that offer to move in with you still stands, I'll take it."

Edward nodded. James kissed him on the lips. He helped James back out of his shirt and pants, allowing him to touch and feel him. James began to touch him, as well, gently moving his hands over him. Edward pressed kisses into his hair and against his flesh. "My love," he whispered gently, nuzzling against James, "Oh, lover…" Edward pressed his forehead against James's, and the other man wrapped an arm about him.

"Ed," James whispered, his eyes closed.

They woke early the next morning to allow Edward to slip away. In the gray dawn light, Edward breathed, his eyes closed, as James held him from behind, a hand over his heart. Edward patted his hand. "Jim, I have to leave." James nuzzled up against him before letting go.

Smells of herbs and meat met James as he entered the townhouse's kitchen. Edward glanced up from the stove and smiled at him. "Thank you. Lunch is almost ready."

James nodded and held out the towel to wash it in the sink. "Ever had to deal with that before?"

"I did, once," Edward replied as he stirred a stew, reaching over to add in a pinch of salt, "It was before I had moved here. It involved a window, as well." James glanced over at that, and Edward continued, "Someone had sabotaged the window of the flat that my partner and I once lived in. The support planks had been damaged with a saw. My partner had been trying to lower the window when the glass slipped." He stopped stirring and met James's gaze. "I barely managed to get him out of the way in time. The weight of the falling glass would have taken his hand off."

The towel slipped from James's hands to fall into the sink.

XXXXXXX

The diesel engine roared as it thundered over the tracks. Tenpenny, bent over the controls, wiped at his brow with one hand. Heat proved a tentative ally to him over the years. It gave him his engine and his former welding position, yet all the same it had taken his arm away.

A freak engine for a freak man, it fit. He nicknamed the experimental claw Pinchy as a joke and found a bit of kinship with the anomaly. It was better that it was stared at, anyway, as opposed to himself. Returning to a freakshow existence where his sibling used him to make a few pounds was not an option.

Every failure that Tenpenny had, every time a good job was assigned to someone else, it was a reminder of that hammer striking his arm, or his brother calling someone forward to give Dean something to crush for fun.

Hence, he chose to pull a long load in order to impress the Fat Controller and keep himself from falling from prominence. The engine groaned under the weight and buckled. Dean realized with a release of breath too late that it was too much for the engine to handle.

Tenpenny cried out, yanking hard on the brake, his engine skidding loudly. The goods behind him slid backward, the coupling squealing until it at last broke, the trucks skidding. "No, no!"

Tenpenny immediately reversed, but it was too late. The trucks slammed into a break van, crippling it. He leaned over the steering wheel, and sighed. "So much for a good streak," he muttered to himself, reversing slowly. Reaching for the radio, he called, "Paxton, are you about? I need your help."

"Sorry Dean, I'm with Diesel. We got a bit of a situation," he replied apologetically, his voice crackling over the static.

"Oh, fancy that, so do I," he muttered.

"Er, does that include milk and hay?" Paxton asked.

Tenpenny swallowed down a laugh. "No, actually. See you."

A familiar whistle sounded, and he gnashed his teeth.

"Well, well, well, look who ruined his goods rain. I'm not surprised," James commented as pulled up alongside him. The red engine was attached to a train of dirty trucks, and Tenpenny figured that James was just looking for someone to take his anger out on.

Only Tenpenny wasn't thinking logically. He snarled in frustration. "Why don't you come out and actually talk for once, James!"

Junior glanced over at James, who waved a hand. "He can't harm me – he knows better now."

"Still, I'd be careful if I were you," Junior pointed out, "He is furious."

James shrugged. "Don't worry, he deflates quickly when he is called on what he does.'' He maneuvered the engine onto a nearby siding. Moving past Junior, he climbed down from the engine. Stopping before him, he folded his arms. "Yes?"

Tenpenny glared at him. "It amazes me that you are able to continue to drive, given your wrecking record."

James scowled at that. "And you haven't?"

"I'm warning you, James. You're a right pain in the arse. No one would ever miss you if you left," Tenpenny growled at him.

James felt a bolt of fear at that, but immediately shrugged it off. "Says the man who continues to bully other drivers."

Tenpenny raised an eyebrow. "And you don't?"

James turned red at that. "At least I am trying to change how I am!"

"For all the good that that has done," Tenpenny scoffed, "Maybe you should consider why you're even here, James. It's certainly not because you're wanted," Tenpenny said, pointing a mechanical finger at him, "Your team only tolerates you because they're assigned to you. We on the railway only tolerate you because you were hired on."

"Based on your judgment," James snarled, glancing down at Tenpenny's arm.

Tenpenny folded his arms. "Go ahead, say it."

James shook his head. "No."

"Say it," he held his arm in the air, "Either you think it, or you say it."

"I won't," James hissed in response.

"You may as well have," Tenpenny replied in a superior tone of voice, walking away from him. Getting into his engine, he drove off.

James returned to his engine. Before Junior could open his mouth, James said quietly, "Not right now." Junior kept his mouth shut and began to feed coal again as James drove off.

XXXXXXX

Diesels were a common sight on the railway – those who contested their being there was usually the old salts, at least that was James's perception.

Still, the longer he remained on that railway, the more the writing on the wall became visible to him. He understood now why the other steam drivers drank as often as they did. Of course, he too had taken to the drink more often off duty. Being caught drunk and disorderly was a marginally better outcome than being caught in bed with a man. At least he had a method to his drunkenness, unlike those fools. Despite this, it angered him to know that he was considered a funny drunk, an example being falling off his stool and having to try three times to get back on it.

And nevertheless, it was somewhat gratifying to hurl a bottle at a wall when he felt like shit. Unfortunately, that seemed to be happening more often these days. He hated how pale, weak, and utterly pathetic he looked in the mirror, particularly after the crows' feet from stress appeared. "So, this is what your life came to, Jimmy?" He muttered in anger at his face, freshly scrubbed with his dark hair hanging about it in strings. He thought of that portrait of the rearing stallion that used be on his wall in his old home, and wondered what would have happened to it, if it was caught and broken.

James's own iron horse was giving him issues. Looking over the schematics for it, he and his fireman had concluded that the engine was being underused, with it mainly shunting goods. The times that trains were taken, the engine ran at a marginal forty. "Seventy is the best the old girl can do," James commented, glancing the engine over, "No reason not to try."

The goods train was musty and old, the trucks' covers secured carefully by James and his fireman. James's dark eyes trailed carefully over each, narrowing at any slight deviation. If this was to work, they couldn't afford to lose anything.

"Last chance to step off," James cautioned his fireman.

His fireman chuckled. "I'm not getting any younger. May as well try."

The drive started slowly, passing by several other engines of the line across the countryside. Slowly, James leaned heavier on the acceleration, his heart pounding as the dial moved steadily past thirty before coming to the typical plateau of forty. Licking his lips, he pressed harder, the dial wobbling and then climbing to fifty, then sixty.

"Come on," James growled, "You can do this." His fireman didn't comment – he knew where James's words were directed.

The dial rattled and jumped. A wild grin spread across James's face, and he beat one hand down upon the board triumphantly as the dial hit seventy. "Yes!"

The engine shook roughly, and he knew he couldn't hold the speed for long, nevertheless it didn't dampen his victory. The engine wasn't lost, if it could hit its top speed. For just a moment, he allowed himself to bask in the moment, with the wind and scenery whooshing past him, leaving the fear of the diesel engines taking over behind for just a moment.

That was, until he smelled smoke. James's heart leaped into his throat, and he immediately took off speed, veering into a siding. His fireman and he jolted forward at the sudden breaking, causing James to groan in pain as he hit the board with his hip.

Scrambling down from the engine, a pail of water from the tank in hand, his fireman put out the flames on the wooden blocks.

James climbed down after him. "Is it bad?"

His fireman shook his head. "Caught it early enough." He set down the pail and wiped his head. "Frankly, I couldn't believe the old girl had it in her."

"For a few seconds," James deadpanned, shaking his head, "With those damn brakes on, we don't have a chance against the diesels." Taking off his hat, he tossed it back into the cab in frustration.

XXXXXXX

The air in the Dieselworks was musky, and heavy. Rock 'n roll music played over the radio leading from the office. Daniel "Dart" Dobson was currently working on Daisy's diesel, leaving the driver to do little else than wait.

"Don't you usually rely on the fitter?" Paxton asked, leaning on the rail beside her.

Daisy shrugged. "As time passes, I realize more and more that the fitter's orders are better followed as a guideline, else nothing will get done around here."

Paxton smiled at that and tipped his hat. "Good on you then, princess."

She waved as he departed, headed for his engine below.

"Cozying up to you, isn't he?" Diesel commented, shutting his locker door.

Daisy turned to look at him and held back a sigh of annoyance. "He was being nice, Diesel. That's a common nickname I have, anyway." Diesel shook his head, and Daisy replied, "Don't start today. Everything is going well."

Diesel smirked. "For once."

Daisy raised an eyebrow at him. "Diesel, enough. Stop making conflict where there is none."

"'Where there is none.' Daisy, don't you hear yourself talk? The mainland drivers are giving us an issue lately."

Voices drifted up to them from the lower level.

"Rusty, wait a moment," Tenpenny's voice sounded.

An annoyed sigh answered him. "Yes?" Daisy understood why. Dean had made a less than flattering comment about Russell "Rusty" Lightfoot's driving during the previous week.

"I have a message for Skar," he said.

"All right," Rusty answered after a pause, his footsteps sounding toward him.

Daisy shook her head. She didn't quite understand Tenpenny and felt less than safe with his presence. Dean was like a few other souls she had met in her traverse across the continent, in that when he was in a good or neutral mood, he was good to work with, but when he was angry, he was utterly terrifying. While he didn't damage the Dieselworks, he tended to yell, and slam things, pounding the palm of his hand on the rail for emphasis to his points.

She knew that he heavily disliked the steam drivers, as she once had, and typically for the same reason, that being how old-fashioned their machines were, and how much they clung to them. But the more she interacted with those like Thomas and Ryan, the more she understood them. But Dean was another story. Though he did call Skarloey "Skar," he was still cold toward the other steam engine drivers.

Daisy knew some of it. She knew how Dean refused to show himself without his prosthetic limb, and how he would sometimes not shower, his musk filling the Dieselworks, to avoid that shame. She also knew how now two drivers had quit, one of which was provable, Lady, due to his harassment of her, the other, Proteus, not fully known due to the narrow gauge railway holding more information. Ryan wasn't much help there, having arrived after Proteus had quit.

And yet, there was "Skar." She wasn't sure where that had come from, given his conflict with Proteus. It wasn't due to Skarloey being an older authority figure, as it were, given his rivalry with Edward. Tenpenny's route wasn't necessarily set as others were, his engine's build leaving him as a utility vehicle.

"The freak engine," Paxton had commented to her when Daisy had asked, "That's what he said it was called, anyway." They'd been smoking outside of the Dieselworks on a break. Daisy found Paxton's companionship nice enough, in that he was like a puppy in his eagerness. "It was that, or back to welding, which took his arm."

Daisy knew what it was like to be on exhibition. Counting the sweaty bills at the end of the day, she knew what the men and some women who gave them to her were looking for and paid for. But Dean was a different story.

Daisy wondered why Paxton bothered with men like Tenpenny and decided against pressing the matter. It was better the known devil.

Dennis "Den" Fielding moved within the office of the Dieselworks as the phone rang. Picking it up, he greeted, "Dieselworks, th-this is Den speaking. How c-c-can I help you?"

"Regardless, it's the mainland. We're focused on Sodor," Daisy replied.

"The steel mill is different, as is what happened to Stepney," Diesel pushed, "Maybe if we had a better reputation than recruiting deviants—"

"Oi!" Den leaned out of the doorframe, "Telephone for Bo-BoCo! It's urgent!"

Daisy nodded and glanced down. Much to her disdain, BoCo's engine roared to life. She rushed past Diesel, and down the stairs, grasping one of the red flags at the foot of the stairs as she did so.

"Rusty!" Daisy called. Rusty nodded as she flung a red flag at him.

"BoCo!" Rusty called, running up to the green engine, waving the red flag in the air. "BoCo, stop! You can't leave yet!"

The workmen, noting his urgency, sidestepped, allowing Rusty to run past him, and stop at the side of the track BoCo's engine sat on. Rusty waved the flag quickly.

"What is it?" BoCo asked, hanging his head out of the window.

Rusty put down the flag. "You have an urgent call."

"What for?" He asked in a mystified tone.

Rusty shook his head. "I'm not sure. We were more concerned about you not leaving."

BoCo nodded and disappeared from his window. The door to his diesel engine's cab opened and swung shut as he emerged, darting past Rusty, and up the stairs. A few of the others looked on, but most had to move on with their duties.

Diesel watched BoCo pass by and shrugged at Daisy. Flipping open her lighter, she lit a cigarette, and headed over to the office. Diesel clacked away behind her. BoCo sounded curious at first, then became more and more concerned. "I see…But…Oh. Thank you, then." The receiver went slack in BoCo's hand. He quietly placed it back in the cradle. He leaned heavily on the table, his hands braced upon it.

"BoCo," Den said quietly. BoCo kept his back to him, and Den repeated, "BoCo, y-you all right?"

BoCo heaved a heavy breath and straightened up. "Me brother hanged himself," he said quietly.

Daisy lowered her eyes, her cigarette's smoke curling up in the air. A workman in the distance cried out as a chain squealed. Something clanged on the floor far below. Den reached over and shut off the radio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there were two pieces of collaboration on this chapter. Oliver's previous affair with Diesel, and Diesel 10's connection to Skarloey, were from a collaboration with Sabbat Spiral. However, each of these plot points are more for prologue information, and to give a different angle to each respective diesel character. BoCo's brother killing himself is a reference to BoCo's origin story by Thomas1Edward2Henry3. Diesel's mention of the steel mill is a reference to Journey Beyond Sodor.
> 
> Because it didn't occur to me that I had gotten Duck's first name wrong, I have got back and retconned it. Cut version will be on deviantart, Fanfiction, and Tumblr.
> 
> "But since when do people like us get what we want?" -John Crichton, Farscape


	5. Chapter 5

"Think this is enough?" Ben asked Bill as they made their way to the funeral home.

Bill glanced over at the bouquet that Ben carried. "It would be if you'd stop rumpling it!"

"Hey, I'm holding it as well as I can!" He protested, "The cuffs on this jacket are stiff! You try it!" He thrust the flowers in Bill's face, a few leaves ending up in his twin's blonde hair.

Bill was about to retort when Edward broke in from behind them, "Both of you, enough. This is in poor taste."

They quieted down as they entered the funeral parlor, Bill tugging out the leaves. Others, mostly consisting of diesel drivers, were inside. BoCo's white hair stuck out easily within them, his head bent slightly, and his hand on his hip as he spoke to Derek. Marion's red hair caught Edward's attention as she turned her head quickly. Clasping her hands together, she darted over to him. "Hello, Edward! It's good to see you—well, that is, it's not good to see you, considering the circumstances, but, oh, you understand my meaning, I hope?" She clasped her hands together and bounced on the balls of her feet.

With a reassuring smile, Edward nodded. She gestured with a wave of her arm, parting a path through the gathered people toward BoCo. Nodding his thanks, Edward headed over to him. A woman with long honey-colored hair stood beside BoCo, her expression somber under her mourning hat. She glanced, every so often, at the open casket, and wound a tissue in-between her hands. BoCo's eyes, shadowed as he spoke to Derek, lit on Edward, Bill and Ben trailing behind him. "Oh, hello," he greeted quietly, managing a slight smile.

"I had to shepherd them over," Marion commented in a light tone from behind the gathering. Walking past them, she joined BoCo and Derek, "With a turnout so large for your brother, it was the only plausible route."

The woman beside BoCo stepped forward. "I can take those for you two, if you like," she offered, holding her hands out for the flowers.

Bill and Ben glanced between themselves, and BoCo explained in a warm tone, "This is my lover, Camilla. She's been assisting me with this viewing, and the funeral."

She smiled at Edward, who gave a polite nod of familiarity. He'd met her during a small get-together at BoCo's that later became infamous for a missing housekeys incident. Edward wasn't exactly sure if attempting to dig a set of keys out of a septic tank constituted a bonding practice, and of course it was Marion who found the keys. Outright laughing, her hands still covered in a substance that Edward didn't want to even think of as BoCo and Camilla hustled her off to the nearest washroom, Marion called to a sheepish Benjamin "Bear" Riggs, "Perhaps you should consider sewing them into your coat pocket next time!"

"Oh, that's right," Ben whispered, "We didn't get to see her that one day when you forgot to bring the coal for our engines."

"Me? Well, you—"

Timothy appeared at that moment to quickly resolve the matter. "Regardless, I brought it, and you can see her now."

The twins shrugged at that, and Ben handed over the flowers to Camilla, who walked off with them. Following her with his gaze, Edward noticed Paxton, Rusty, and Frank sitting and talking quietly amongst themselves. Den and Dart were putting on their coats to leave. Phillip and Bear were in another corner of the room and were listening intently to a story that Salty was telling them.

"How has it been?" Edward asked BoCo. Politely, Derek and Timothy took their leave, as did Marion, who stopped to quietly contemplate a photo of BoCo and his brother as young boys. Bill and Ben went over to the open casket, Ben kneeling before it, and Bill standing beside him.

BoCo glanced at Edward before letting out a sigh. "Honestly? Exhausting." He glanced over at the casket. "It's hard for me to think of him, now, between the arrangements, though I appreciate Marion helping Camilla and me with keeping things in order. I know that the grief won't hit me until the funeral tomorrow, but," he shut his eyes and reached into his pocket to pull out a handkerchief, "excuse me."

"It's all right," Edward reassured gently as BoCo dabbed at his eyes. The funeral itself would be a closed affair, family only. He wondered if Camilla was going to be considered an exception to that rule.

"I can't help but feel the regret. Walter had to have felt so alone, and here I was on Sodor, with nary a care in the world."

"BoCo, you did what you could," Edward replied, "What would it have done, had you gone to the mainland?"

BoCo swallowed. "My engine would've probably been scrapped, too. But I promised I would be there for him, and I wasn't."

Edward led him to a nearby chair, and BoCo sat down, with Edward taking the chair before him. Leaning forward, he replied, "But that isn't true, BoCo. You called your brother and wrote to him. We even saw less of you on Sodor lately because of your taking jobs to the mainland to see him. You offered to send him money, and if I remember correctly, you bought him groceries and paid his rent, once or twice. You did what you could, given what he allowed you to do."

BoCo lowered his head, and slowly nodded. "All right, Edward, all right." Raising his eyes, he said, "After the viewing, will you come with a few of us for dinner? I feel that I need to be near others."

"Of course," Edward replied, glancing back to see that Bill and Ben had swapped places. Bill was now rising from kneeling, with the twins leaving the casket. Edward passed by them as they stopped before BoCo and began to talk to him. Much unlike their typical joking demeanor, Bill asked BoCo to tell them about his brother.

Edward stood over the casket, and thought sadly how young the man looked inside, his platinum blonde hair making him appear delicate. Selfishly, in his own opinion, he decided against offering a prayer, as whoever listened to his consistently neglected to answer them.

Timothy stood before a vase of flowers, his hands folded behind his back. Derek came up behind him, and Timothy turned around to begin to talk with him. Edward caught grasps of their conversation as he walked past them. "You think he would have wanted them?" Timothy whispered, having not known BoCo very well due to being employed later, "I hope that we weren't seeming to be intrusive."

"It's more the thought," Derek replied before letting out a sigh, "But I wish he could have known that he wasn't alone in his own life."

Timothy's dark head turned at that. "You all right, Derek?"

Derek's hand slowly clenched and unclenched, and Edward stopped as Derek softly replied, "I know my engine is having similar problems on the mainland. I could've lost my job, you know. And I—I think of how unfair it all is."

Timothy, however, was reassuring. "But Derek, you got past your engine's teething troubles. Bill and Ben helped you. I'm here, too, now, as is Marion. The Sodor China Clay Company hasn't left you behind."

Derek slowly smiled. "Thank you."

Timothy gently hit him on the shoulder. "Don't you forget, one-of-a-kind engines are bountiful here. You're in good company."

Their conversation died off as Edward moved past them to sign the registry. Daisy had already been there, as had Mavis and Sidney. Diesel and Dean Tenpenny were long gone, as he had suspected, but they had still left their names. Other steam drivers, he noticed, as he turned the page backward, had come in during the earlier viewing. Gordon's elaborate signature stood over Henry's more loose signing. James's signature had a flourish, while Toby's was written in short hand. Under Hiro's kanji characters, Duck's hard-pressed handwriting left a bold imprint. Edward continued to glance over he catalogue of his co-workers in curiosity before flipping it back to the current page.

Marion moved around near Camilla's elbow, adjusting flowers and tittering. The scene had a muted feeling to it, and Edward felt a sense of melancholy. Everyone died eventually, but it didn't make the process of burying a person any more pleasant.

Moving back toward the others, Edward felt grateful for their being there. They were still alive, and there was still time to enjoy their company.

XXXXXX

James missed his sister on first glance about the local café.

Blanche looked older, and he told himself it was due to the flowered hat, however he had to admit to himself that it also had to be due to her bones showing so close to her flesh. She rose at the sight of him, and extended her hand, quietly greeting, "James."

James took her hand, and pressed it, sitting down before her. "Hi, Blanche."

His sister smiled politely, raising her teacup. "Do you want anything? A cake?"

James waved a hand. "Much of the food here isn't good, anyway. Tea's fine." Blanche appeared hurt, and he noticed the white cake sitting beside her. He shrugged. "That's my opinion, anyway." The venue hadn't been his choice, as he tended to prefer holes in the wall, as opposed to the more well-off appearing eateries.

She opted to change the subject. "You seem to be getting on well, though you appear a little thin."

"Work isn't necessarily comfortable," he replied simply, glancing out the window, "At least I keep myself clean."

Blanche smiled at that and lowered her eyes. James turned back to look at her and wondered why she was wasting her time with him. He could see the wedding ring on her finger. She never wrote to him, save one or two occasions announcing her wedding, and wishing him well on his job as a driver. He figured that the reason was he was a black sheep, as his other sister Maude rarely wrote to him, either.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a small box to set on the table. "Happy birthday, brother."

He glanced up in surprise before giving her a smile and opening it. Within was a bottle of cologne, though the scent was stronger than what he preferred. "I'm sorry I've missed so many," she commented, "It's hard to get away, you know. You have a niece and nephew, James, and they're difficult to handle."

James's heart sunk at that, and he felt utterly hurt. "Could I see them, sometime?"

Blanche sighed. "Maude and I agreed that it wouldn't be the best, right now."

James's fist clenched on the table. "And why is that?" He asked quietly.

Blanche lowered her head. "James, please don't be angry, but your temper is a problem, as are a few other things."

"I beg your pardon?" He asked, his tone continuing to be quiet.

She glanced about. "I'd rather not say, but that incident with our father should suffice."

James bit back on an angered yell, and a vein throbbed in his neck. He glared at her, and at her stupid hat. That "incident" was caused by him defending her honor to begin with, in his mind. Not wanting to hear any more, James stood, and put the box back down on the table. "That's enough," he said sharply, causing a few heads to turn.

"James, I—"

He reached into his pocket and threw a few pounds down. "It's on me." Turning, he abruptly walked away, the door shutting on Blanche's cry for him to come back.

The streets flew past him as he moved quickly down them, stomping on the pavement. Pausing in the shadow of a water fountain, drained for the winter, James put his face in his gloved hand, and wiped at the tears.

XXXXXX

"I don't see why you need a garden outside," James quipped as he brushed past a plant to sit down, "There's already one in here."

Henry scowled at him, and James laughed as he relaxed on the chair at his reaction. "You become used to them," Gordon commented as he entered the room, "Personally I find that there are not enough."

"Playing contrary, Gordon?" James asked. When Gordon didn't answer his question, he pursued the subject no further. Instead, he resolved to sip his tea. With Edward gone for the later funeral viewing, James was at liberty to entertain himself. He supposed that he was making a good enough houseguest, as neither Henry nor Gordon had reason to kick him out that he knew of.

Gordon placed down the day's paper on the coffee table. "I assume you've read the news?"

"Even if I hadn't, railway gossip would have sufficed," James replied, running his finger along the side of his cup. The headline screamed out the message that the Nocturne, a much-frequented gay club in Sodor's underground area, had been raided, with several arrests being made. The front photo showed two young men being led off in handcuffs.

That morning, Henry had slammed down the paper in frustration next to his toast, yelling, "Can't they just leave us alone?!"

James knew that he wouldn't be able to fulfill the plan he and Edward made of going there. The Nocturne had been served with an order to close. Edward had been looking forward to it, too, with his practicing dancing with James in the parlor. Though Edward had told him that morning that it couldn't be helped, James had seen his crestfallen look.

Gordon and Henry knew a few of the couples that had been arrested, while James and Edward had only known about one or two men. "Did you happen to read this, as well?" Gordon asked, turning a few of the pages, and flipping over the paper for James to see the editorial column.

James scowled. "I didn't, but Edward did. He told me about it." It was an opinion piece that was questioning whether the local railway's employ of an overstated several people with homosexual inclinations was leading to such institutions being allowed their establishment.

James's sleeves were pulled back, exposing the scars from where the steel mill's heat had burned him. The memory of them was one he didn't want to consider. There was Hurricane dangling him by his hair precariously close to the smelter, and then there was Frankie kicking him harshly in the ribs after knocking him out of the office chair he was forcibly sat down in.

Frankie's hair was wild and clumped from the soot and dirt. A switchblade glinted in her one hand. Throwing the pen down before him, she held out the contract before him. "We can keep going, if you like," Frankie said, "so I suggest, if you want to stop, sign your name."

James coughed before responding hoarsely, "I said 'no.'"

Frankie sighed. "Have it your way, then." She stepped aside to allow Hurricane through. He was brandishing a pipe and dragged it along the floor toward him.

James glanced up at Frankie. "You can't do this to me! I was just looking for my friend!"

"Oh, but we can," Frankie replied, folding her arms, "We know about the lines on your island, Jim dear. Quite remarkable how the knob jockeys have a place to flock to."

Hurricane shook his head. "You have no idea how revolting you are, do you, James?"

James gnashed his teeth, scrabbled for a shelf to grasp onto, and stood up. "At least I don't look like you."

Frankie smirked, glancing down at James's spread legs. "He has a few attributes that you lack. Regardless, it doesn't matter if you live or die here. Who is really going to care about a dead poof?" James swallowed. Knowing she had found her edge, Frankie held up the contract once more, "Sign here, please."

Hurricane's approaching shadow fell over James, who backed up against the shelf, his one knee bent. James sighed, knowing it was pointless. "I ask again," he replied in a wavering tone, "Where's Thomas Spencer?"

"Not until you sign the contract," Frankie replied sternly. Left with no alternative, James scratched his signature onto the page. Frankie just smiled. "Welcome aboard."

By the time Thomas and a few other mainland drivers had found him, James was the worse for wear. He was covered in soot, exhausted, and coughing hard. He'd barely enough energy to look up at Junior's tap on his shoulder. Through his blurred vision, James saw Thomas leaning out of his cab, his hand extended. "James! James!"

"So, there you are," James growled with disdain, braking, "What were you playing at, stealing my goods train?"

As Thomas swam into focus, James noticed how his friend was also covered in soot. The parts of him that were not seemed to have been scrubbed off quickly. Thomas smelled of burnt rubber, and his cap was missing, his auburn hair exposed like a flame.

James slumped against the interior of the cab in exhaustion, tilting his head sideways. He hadn't been there more than six hours, but it had felt like a week. "Thomas, please, get us out of here."

"We can't stay on the island forever," Gordon commented.

"it's safer here, isn't it?" Henry asked, glancing over at him.

"In a sense, yes. However, look at each of us. I'm from London, James is from Yorkshire, and you are from Doncaster. We have lives outside of this island."

James thought of the regret in Edward's tone as he mentioned his own past of living on Sodor his entire life. "Sodor isn't a haven," James set down his drink, "Treating it like it is is foolish."

"What made you think in that manner?" Gordon asked, testing him.

"Nia," James replied simply, "Edward's told me a few things. I assume Rebecca has had a few experiences?"

Henry nodded, adjusting his glass. "Emily's seen to it that she's protected, though."

James smirked. "We're not liked anywhere, I deem."

"By them," Gordon pointed out, "The separatists are still a minority."

"A minority that egged our house," James replied, waving a hand, "When it comes down to it, they don't consider Edward a Sudrian anymore. I suppose I could be blamed for turning his head."

Henry rolled his eyes at James's self-indulgence while Gordon replied, "Don't flatter yourself."

James let the humor subside, knowing that internally, he felt some amount of guilt for things becoming as they were. "I know the risks," he had said in his self-assured manner to Edward at the gazebo, the night of their first kiss. That had been a lie, as he hadn't known all of them. He didn't care to vocalize it, as it wasn't their business.

James shook his head. "As much as I'd like to stay, I'd best get home before dark."

Gordon stood. "I'll show you the door."

James moved quickly on his way home. There was still light, but it was dying. He fingered his pocketed key and reassured himself that it wouldn't be long. He felt a bit on edge and made himself move more quickly. The closer he was to home, the better. The side streets ran together, with residences framing him on either side. He waved at a few people who knew, or knew of him, and felt a little better.

However, James's step faltered at a crossroads. A small gathering of men stood before him, smoking. Their conversation grew silent when James appeared. His breath caught. He knew of one of the men from his lack of eyebrows – he would give out pamphlets advocating for Sodor's personal sovereignty from the United Kingdom.

"Well, look what trash dropped into our laps, lads," the man commented, tilting his head back, "Why don't you go back to the rails, and leave the streets to us, fairy?"

James glared, and took a step backward as another man called out, "I wouldn't be caught dead on one of his trains!"

James bit down on a retort, continuing to move backward slowly. The men didn't advance on him, but they continued to taunt him.

"Hey Jimmy! I got meat for you if you're hungry!"

"Oh, shut up! The sick little prick only likes his meat aged!"

James's fist clenched. He couldn't take it any longer. He stepped forward, swinging his fist by his side. It didn't matter to him any longer if he would be beaten for this – he had to defend his house.

A hand came down on James's shoulder, causing him to whip around. "Laddie, I think ye took a wrong turn."

James breathed a sigh of relief at Donald's presence. "So, where did you come from?"

Donald let go of him. "Home, of course. Dougie and Rosie kicked me out for a few hours, so I thought I would go enjoy a pint." Donald steered him away from the side street, the men glowering after them, and back onto the main streets, a few jeers thrown at James's back in passing. "What were ye doing over there, anyway?"

"Shortcut," James replied simply, wanting to pass over the subject quickly out of embarrassment as they neared a bus shelter. The ride was uneventful, though James felt suspicion as each new passenger climbed on board or walked along the road. It was a feeling that he hadn't felt for a long time, since leaving Yorkshire, as if he was being watched for any misstep. The hairs rose on the back of his neck.

"James?" Donald's voice broke him out of his thoughts.

"Yes, what is it?" He asked.

"Stop's coming up," he replied, tugging on the signal cord and rising. At James's confused expression, Donald commented in a blasé tone of voice, "One pub's as good as another."

Disembarking from the bus, Bertie shouting something unintelligible over the motor as he roared off, James stopped before the townhouse and climbed up a few stairs to sit down. "I'd invite you in, but I don't think you'd want to be drunk before you get to the pub."

Donald smiled, and sat down below him. "I'll rest a wee bit and continue on."

James laughed. "What's the matter, Donald? Too fat to go on?"

"Actually, no, considering how I'd be lugging your bony arse across town after you've had two drinks," Donald replied.

James's eyes narrowed. "You really want to challenge me? I'd drink you under the table!"

"Laddie, not today," Donald replied, and James collected himself, thinking of BoCo's loss.

They stared out at the other townhouses, bunched together with mailboxes, and strips of grass before them. "I owe you one," James commented quietly.

Donald shrugged. "There were bastards like that in Scotland, as well. Dougie and I notice them a bit more now."

"Because you're not from here," James commented quietly, thinking back on the egging.

James's stomach dropped. Had he not become involved with Edward, the egging would not have happened. Edward would have lived in peace otherwise. "Ye all right, James?" Donald asked, nudging him.

"You may want to quit touching me," James commented, "If someone sees us, you're in for it."

Donald nodded. "Sorry."

James waved a hand. "I may as well have leprosy, at this point."

Donald shrugged. "Consider me sick, then."

James's eyes narrowed. "Come again?"

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?" Donald asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I'd prefer if you didn't joke with me," James replied in annoyance.

"That wasn't my intention," Donald said, and James swallowed.

Deciding to keep the topic within his confidence, James changed the subject. "I want two things. I want to be safe, but I also want to be able to see and enjoy the world."

"Well, which one do ye want more?" Donald asked.

"Whichever doesn't end with me in a drainage ditch," James replied simply.

Donald tapped his fingers moodily against his knee. James turned to look at him, and Donald asked, "Then that's here, or at least, the closest you'll come to it."

James scowled at that. "And I should be happy, shouldn't I?"

"I didn't say that," Donald corrected, "I was just laying out the answer to what you want." James frowned at that, and Donald continued, "There's a reason why you're still troubled, though, isn't there?"

"To be quite honest, I'm tired," James grumbled, "I'm tired of having to worry about whether I'll still be employed in fifteen years. I'm tired of having to hide any time I just want to hold Edward's hand," he brought his fist down on the stair, "and I'm tired of this damn townhouse being the only place where I can be myself."

"Be happy you have that," Donald replied quietly. James was ready to snap back at him, but let it go. "Not everyone does."

James frowned. "Then what? Accept this?" It was a contention he often held with Edward. Edward accepted things far too easily in the modern day. Edward was older, and his body was worn down from work. And unfortunately, James feared that Edward might pass away before any real change could be affected.

"I didnae say anything of the sort," Donald corrected sharply, "but ye have to count yer blessings, James. Ye're safe for the moment."

"This coming from you?" James questioned, "You smuggled your own brother here, Donald. I don't think you're very concerned about upholding the letter of the law."

"Not the same thing," Donald replied, waving his hand, "I had no choice other than getting Dougie out of there. Ye have someone to protect."

"He can take care of himself," James hissed, standing up in annoyance.

"Oh fer—Calm yerself, James!" Donald retorted, "I wasn't implying that! I'm just saying that you need to think about who also lives with ye."

James felt embarrassed but chose to save face. "On that note, then, I'll think about it."

Donald nodded, and stood as James made his way to the front door. "Good night," Donald called after him as the door shut.

Edward woke James up several hours later with a brush of the hand over his forehead. "James, I'm home," he said quietly.

Groaning, James turned over in bed, and rubbed at his eyes. "BoCo all right?" He mumbled, "Didn't expect you to be out that late."

"He had a few items he wanted to discuss with a few of us," Edward replied, removing his tie. James could smell the alcohol on him.

"I see," James replied as Edward sat down beside him, the bed creaking under his weight.

James leaned his head up against Edward's hand, and Edward gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Go back to sleep, Jim. I'll be in later."

"Your engine," James mumbled against his hand, "they scrapped all of them, too."

"Shh, I know, I know," Edward gently stroked his shoulder.

"Are you scared?" James muttered, his words slurring from his being in and out of sleep, "I'd take care of you, you know. I love you."

"I love you, too," Edward coaxed, "but right now, James, you need to sleep."

James's breathing slowly relaxed, and he nuzzled further into the pillow as Edward got up and moved into the bathroom to wash.

XXXXXX

James's meeting Roger Cook was purely innocuous.

It wasn't in a bar setting, this time, or rather it was close to it. James had stopped, after a morning shift, for food, and found that the tables were crowded in a local pub. The bar itself was closely packed, save for an empty seat near a blonde-haired youth. Cigarette smoke, beer, and the smell of frying food filled the air. "This taken?" James asked, and the youth shook his head as he jotted down items on what appeared to be a to-do list.

The general misery of the stink and overcrowded atmosphere, which was not helped by the books heaped beside the young man, became a bit of a joke to James. Sipping his drink, he'd settled into watching the clientele. "Do you suppose that old man's trying to put one over?"

The other man glanced up from the paper he was writing on. Following James's nod toward a card game, he smirked, and turned his head back, tapping his pen against the side of his head. "He is. Watch."

James glanced back and watched the old man's booted foot bump the table, spilling over the cards. The other two players dove for their cards, with the old man apologizing profusely before leaning forward to quickly look at the remaining cards on the table. James chuckled, and shook his head. "I reckon they're not too bright. That trick is quite old."

"I know a few others," his companion replied, glancing back up, and tugging at his clean red checkered scarf for emphasis.

Glancing sidelong at the book pile, James noted the titles. While not completely versed, he knew enough to comment, "I suppose Oliver Twist has taught you them?"

He smirked, replying, "The material must come from somewhere. I'm Roger, by the way."

"James," he replied, tilting his drink toward him in acknowledgment. Glancing about, he commented, "Thinkwe can find more material, then? I'm bored enough as it is."

Roger glanced up and shrugged his agreement.

By the time James's cottage pie arrived, he had settled into the game of trading observations and the occasional insult with his companion. Upon finishing, with a furtive glance about, Roger tore off a piece of the bottom of his list to write his name and address. "For another lunch, if you care," he said, walking off and tossing his scarf over his shoulder.

James folded the paper up and placed it in his pocket. Finishing his drink, he thought to himself that if Roger was a paper tiger, he was at least a good-looking one.

Roger, as it turned out, was a local library assistant. He wasn't exactly stuffy, though he was quiet, and spry. He was also dreadfully lonely, almost pathetically so, his own lodgings featuring books and smelling oink and parchment. He was startled by displays of physical affection from James, such as an arm around the shoulder or a hand on the knee but leaned into them. James thought, in an embarrassed manner, that he was probably seeing how he himself had acted in what could be termed his "early days," and he disliked it.

Roger was a nice enough lad, albeit different from the previous men James had had. Typically, James had come to expect a tumble into a tangle of legs, with a bit of brush off afterward, an "off you go," as it were. Though a few of his relationships were longer, he tended not to date often. His temper was a problem, as was his profession. He knew that he was working class, and some didn't like it – he was rough, no matter how he dressed otherwise.

That once led to one man yanking on his hair, and another nearly twisting his neck. "Stay with your own kind," was the angered hiss.

Roger gently massaged James's neck. "It doesn't hurt anymore," James muttered, turning his head from him.

Kissing the back of his neck, Roger replied, "We'll make better memories."

James came to like seeing that butter blonde head sticking just out from beneath the blankets. While he couldn't trust Wheeler's nosiness to allow Roger to visit his flat, Roger seemed to little mind his presence in his own. "Will you read to me?" He asked, putting a book in James's lap one night, "I'm having trouble sleeping."

James raised an eyebrow. "What am I, your parent?"

Roger chuckled. "I've seen you looking at them as often as you have."

James sighed, and cracked it open. The flow of the words was short and seemed to be describing a scene in winter. He realized that it was a poem, and, when prompted by Roger, read a few more, the words clunkily coming out of his mouth. Shutting the book, he commented, "Surprised an idiot like me could grasp that."

Roger propped himself up on his arm. "Who told you that?"

"I don't want to talk about it. There, you had your story. Good night." James muttered, putting the book aside, and shutting off the light.

The days moved by at an uneven pace. There were layoffs, and verbal arguments. James found that his locker had been broken into, with the mirror and a few objects inside smashed. He knew that the writing was on the wall, especially given the lack of respect the diesel drivers gave him. If he didn't think carefully about his prospects, he could end up jobless.

Watching the sunset out his flat window alongside James, Roger patted his arm. "Whatever becomes of us, let's live for now."

James smiled at him. "That sounds fine."

XXXXXX

The rusted husks of trains sat quietly as James's engine went by, its train comprising of trucks filled with scrap metal. "I seem to be wearing a sign on my neck, lately, that says I need to be given these jobs," James grumbled, "I don't even think a washdown will get rid of the stink."

"James, do you only ever complain?" Glenda grumbled over the radio from the brake van.

"No actually, I sing and dance if you tip me well," he replied sarcastically.

"Cute," Glenda remarked in an annoyed tone as the train ran along. Metal squealed in the distance, and the metal claw of the warship diesel towered.

James glowered at it and turned up his nose. Junior's head was turned away as he shoveled, and Glenda was more inclined to complaining about James's attitude. He smirked at his chance, and called over the loudspeaker, "Hey look, an eyesore! Think your engine ought to be scrapped, as well?"

"James!" Junior and Glenda yelled in annoyance at his misbehavior.

After a long pause, Tenpenny quietly replied, "You'll learn when to keep your mouth shut, James."

James rolled his eyes, though he swallowed down his disturbance at his reaction. He focused upon the deliveries of parts to be melted down and hoped the job would end soon.

"Well, this should be the last of it for my run," Glenda said tiredly, swiping a rag across her forehead, the orange light from the smelter illuminating her muscular form, and bathing her dark skin in an otherworldly glow. James smiled as she passed by the engine, left bare without a train and brake van. "Be seeing you two at the station." Glenda's boots clacked over the gravel as she faded away with the distance, her outline becoming a shadow. An exterior door to the smelter shut.

James turned to Junior. "We'd best be off, as well."

James slowly backed the engine up, the smelter's heat making him heady. He was relieved to be ending his shift. Junior smiled at him as he shoveled coal, his blonde hair streaked by the debris.

The calm of the moment was broken by the blaring of the horn that pealed across the inside of the smelter. James and Junior jumped as the smelter was filled with light, and the warship engine thundered down the line toward them.

James scrambled for the radio and slammed on the speaker. "Tenpenny, back up!" James exclaimed.

No response came from the warship diesel. "STOP!" James cried out.

With a squeal of metal, James and Junior were pitched forward, the radio falling out of James's hand as Dean Tenpenny roughly drove his engine forward. James barely caught himself on the controls from cracking his head open. The barrier to the smelter squealed under the weight of the engine's leading wheels.

Junior's eyes flicked back and forth in fear. "Has he—has he gone mad?"

Before James could reply, another squeal sounded as they were pitched forward again, barely catching themselves on their elbows. James angled his fall to sprawl himself over the brake, and yanked hard on it. "Ask your question later, Junior," he hissed in response. Junior nodded, grasping onto the brake and pulling alongside him.

James let go with one hand and grasped the radio to pick it up. "Dean, stop! You're going to kill us!" James exclaimed into it.

Dean didn't reply.

"He's not really going to do it, is he?" Junior gasped.

"Not going to gamble on that," James replied. Turning his head to the side, he coughed hard. For as much as he wanted to reach for his canteen, he couldn't let go.

Another sharp bang sent James sprawling forward over the controls. His hands and arms were burning through the fabric of his uniform and gloves. Sweat ran down his forehead and stuck his clothing to himself like a second skin. He glanced around frantically, hoping for an out.

"And you know what, James? I'll shove Edward in there, too!" Tenpenny taunted.

James swung his head sharply about at that. Junior clapped his shoulder. "Tune it out! It doesn't mean anything!" James glared up at Junior before giving a tight nod.

Yanking heavily on the brake, James gritted his teeth as it vibrated in his hands. The engine's wheels squealed, sparks flying as another hard push sent it closer to the inferno. The barrier broke under its weight, the leading wheels clanging back down on the tracks. Sweat soaked the controls, and James's breath caught. "We aren't going to save it," he whispered.

Junior glanced up at him, unsure as to what he had heard. James felt as if a weight was slowly lifting from his shoulders. The engine's loss was completely immaterial to him, rather he turned his attention to his fireman. "Junior, get out of the cab!" Junior hesitated and glanced about the cab in desperation. "That's an order, Junior!" James snarled through gritted teeth. The fireman reluctantly slackened his grip. Loosening his grip, as well, James yelled, "NOW!" Letting go, they each sprung out of the cab.

James grunted from pain as he hit the gravel floor, his hands splayed out. His uniform jacket and pants tore from the impact. He shoved himself to his feet, and stared sideways at his engine, which was covered in soot, its paint work chipping. It slid forward a few meters closer to the smelter before grinding to a halt.

Whirling about, James glared at the massive diesel engine, which now idled. He seethed, his fists clenching and unclenching. A growl rose in his throat. "Fuck it!" He exclaimed, cutting into a dead run toward the diesel engine.

Junior called out his name, but he didn't answer him, bolting toward the bright lights of the engine. He was sinking completely into rage, not caring that Tenpenny could easily run him over, or climb out of the engine to beat him. He'd slam his fist into the man's face before he even could have time to think.

Tenpenny stared at him from the diesel's cab, his expression laxing from anger to that of shock, as if unable to process what he had nearly done. His face fell, and regret shone on his features. He appeared about to say something but decided against doing so. Backing up, he drove off.

James's knees wobbled, and he bent slightly forward, leaning the palms of his hands on his knees. "James!" Footsteps pattered over to him. He breathed in a mouthful of hot air, only to cough harshly. A hand grabbed his shoulder, and he turned his head to stare tiredly at Junior. "Come on, James, he's gone now," Junior reassured, "It's over."

James gave a heavy sigh, and glanced back toward his engine, its form wavering in the heat. "It's a lovely thing, isn't it?" He said quietly.

"Yup," Junior replied, "Just a few scratches to buff, a few repairs to the brakes, a fresh coat of paint, and it'll look good as new."

James gave a sad smile, and led the way back to the engine, the gravel crunching under his boots. However, with each step he felt woozy, and placed a hand to his stomach. "You all right?" Junior asked in concern.

James grunted, and gave a nod as he raised his head, his hand falling to his side. "I'm fine, come on."

The smelter continued to burn before them as James lowered the brake. He took a heavy breath, his elbows bending as he attempted to stabilize himself, his one hand shaking. "James?" Junior asked.

"I'm fine," he grumbled, standing up. Carefully reversing the engine, he slowly backed out of the smelter's yard. The sunlight hit the cab, causing James to bury his eyes against the side of his arm for a moment, and Junior to shut his.

Radio chatter burst as they passed through the yard, the warship diesel not in sight.

"What happened in there?"

"Are you all right?

"What was that noise?"

The questions spun in James's mind, and he found that he couldn't keep up with them as his engine trundled along slowly, his disorientation growing with each kilometer passed. Boots clomped as someone jumped into the cab, and Glenda was shaking him, yelling, "James? James?" He swung his head about, and Glenda gasped, "My word, you're utterly green!"

He couldn't take it anymore. Tugging on the brake, he stopped the engine. He ripped open the buttons on his livery jacket and threw it on the footplate. He nearly fell down the cab's stairs, Glenda barely catching him. Shoving off her, and stumbling forward, he fell to his knees. Coughing hard, he brought a hand to his mouth. The sun felt too bright. He was dizzy, and his stomach churned. Lurching forward, he vomited, his hand falling away as he emptied the contents of his stomach to the ground.

"James!" Junior's and Glenda's shadows hovered over them. He felt them shaking him, but didn't respond, too exhausted and in pain to do so. With a grunt, Glenda stood up. "I've got to get help!" She sped off, leaving Junior to pat his back. James palms hit the ground, and he swayed back and forth. For a moment, he wanted Edward with him, but he knew that he was far off.

Sweat ran down his arms. He continued to sway, with shadows forming in the corners of his vision as Junior presented something white before him, and wiped at his undershirt with it. He didn't want to go back there, into the smelter, into the darkness and heat.

Heels clacked rapidly over to him, and a hand gripped his chin. "James!" He groaned as his chin was brought up. He squinted into a pair of blue eyes, framed by long blonde hair. Annie's concerned expression made part of his mind sardonically think of old times. He dropped his head back down in exhaustion.

Annie swung her head to look over her shoulder at Clarabel, who was holding a medical kit, and Glenda, whose back was to them, her fists clenching and unclenching as she fended off onlookers. Annie waved Clarabel forward, and James thought for a brief moment that it was like old times all over again.

James stared down at the ground, his vision wavering from the heat and dizziness. More footsteps came to a stop, Glenda yelling at them to back off. Questions about what had happened sounded around him, and he felt too tired to answer. Junior was taken from his side by Clarabel, while Annie knelt before James, her hand on his shoulder. "Can you walk?"

Rather than answering her, James coughed, and spat more bile through his hand. "Someone help me," he groaned.

"That's enough staring!" A hand roughly grabbed him by the arm and flung it over a shoulder as if he was a rag doll. James's head fell from exhaustion. "He obviously can't work! There's nothing to see here!" James wasn't sure whether he wanted to thank or hit Gordon for his comments but lacked the energy to make a decision on either. His consciousness wavered, and he slumped, burying his head in his shoulder as the bigger man carried him away.

Edward received the news via radio, and his hand nearly faltered on the control. The next moment, however, he grasped it tightly, knowing that he still had work to complete. He let himself worry only after his engine backed into the shed. "It'll be all right, Eddie," his fireman comforted as he climbed down from the cab, "He got to the infirmary. Annie's looking after him—she'll do right by him."

Edward gave a nod and leaned backward on the board to stretch. His shoulders popped, as did his knees and left wrist. "When did I become so old," he murmured to himself before climbing off the engine.

"Edward." The sound of a muted call caused him to turn his head. Toby's tram engine stood quietly in the shed, with the driver himself on board. Henrietta was sitting on the side of the doorframe. "We need to talk," Toby said quietly. His arms folded, he leaned against the doorframe of his tram engine. His goggles were on top of his graying brown hair, which was sticking up everywhere. Dark circles were under his green eyes. The red bandana he wore around his left arm was covered in soot.

Edward nodded, and stood from his engine to walk over. "Forgive me, Toby, but may I ask to keep this brief?"

"Yes, of course," he agreed, "The subject matter is relevant, anyway."

"Dean," Edward said quietly. Henrietta nodded.

"It would seem that our opinion of how to work alongside him must change," Toby commented.

"Though this is not out of affection for James on your part," Edward commented.

Toby shook his head. "James can deal with his own problems. It was only a matter of time that his bad habits have come back on himself. And if that was the only issue, I wouldn't have brought this up at all."

Edward nodded. "Regardless, it was attempted murder."

"There is another detail," Toby continued, "He threatened you, Ed."

Edward's eyes widened. "Me? Why?"

Henrietta shrugged. "James mentioned that when Gordon took him to the infirmary. Apparently Tenpenny said that he was going to push you into the smelter, as well. It probably didn't mean anything, but we thought we should pass it along."

Edward shut his eyes and rubbed them. "He still said it, however."

"Exactly," Toby agreed, "The point is, he has tried to kill someone, and threatened to do it to someone else."

Edward lowered his eyes. "I'd be depriving Dean of an income by complaining about him."

"I know," Toby replied, "But we can't let this continue now. James was lucky."

"I assume James instigated?" Edward inquired.

"He did," Toby confirmed, "But that doesn't mean that he deserved it."

Edward glanced over at Henrietta, and back at Toby. He sighed heavily. "To be honest, I'm not surprised that it was him who pushed Tenpenny that far."

"He seems not to learn from his mistakes," Henrietta commented, "Here is to hoping that perhaps this lesson will at last be instilled in him." Edward nodded at that. "Still," she continued, "a line has been crossed, now."

Toby placed a hand on her shoulder, and she squeezed it. "And the problem is, there is no deliberating as to whether there was an accident. James's engine's tender is mangled."

Edward frowned. "But if we pursue this, it will cause a rift between us and the diesel drivers."

"I know," Toby said, and Edward lowered his eyes. Toby and Henrietta proved instrumental in vigilance on the railway for those who would report men like Edward to the police. He could only pay it back in kind.

"All right, let's speak to the Fat Controller."

Walking home from the bus, Edward felt guilt descend over him. It was for the better, he decided, that a complaint be lodged. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but feel partially responsible, should Tenpenny's job be taken from him.

The townhouse's familiar shape gave Edward a small amount of normalcy, as did the turn of the key in the lock. "James?" He called as he locked the door.

"In here," answered a tired voice.

Edward felt a sense of relief at that, and moved toward the parlor, pausing in the doorway. James glanced up at him from where he was curled up in a ball on the couch, one arm flung over the pillow. It was unlike him, and as Edward reached for the light switch, James said quietly, "Don't, please."

Edward hugged himself. "James, why is it so cold in here?"

"I can't take the heat and light, after the smelters," he replied plainly.

Edward refrained from altering the room's setting and moved toward him. James slightly moved aside to allow him room to sit. Drawing James's head into his lap, he ran his hand through his hair. There wasn't any point in thinking on what could have happened, while he had been on his branch line, still he felt lucky.

"Hope I don't still smell like smoke," James muttered.

Linking his fingers through his, Edward kissed them, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes. "No, not at all."

James closed his eyes, turning his head into Edward's lap with a heavy sigh. Edward rubbed James's back with his free hand. He was tempted to indulge himself on the fact that his lover was crying over him, however, when he opened his mouth, what he said was, "My fireman could've been killed."

"You both could have," Edward corrected quietly, his voice wavering.

"Because I heckled Tenpenny," James commented, "Maybe if I'd kept my mouth shut, this wouldn't have happened."

Swallowing to regain his composure, Edward replied, "To be fair, James, I believe that anyone would have set him off, at that point. But I'll agree that you need to learn to stop fueling fire."

A few minutes passed by in silence, and James muttered, "What do you see in me?"

Edward, caught off guard by the question, paused for a moment before replying, "We're not going down that road, James."

"You didn't answer my question," he replied, rolling over to stare up at Edward, and revealing a troubled expression, "Tell me."

Edward, upon hearing the wavering notes in James's voice, conceded. "Your confidence was what first attracted me to you. Still does to this day, in fact. You also don't give up easily, though you are very bull-headed. You also are willing to admit when you are wrong, and lately, it seems, you're at last confronting the less savory parts of yourself. That takes bravery," his fingers combed through James's hair, pushing aside a few loose strands.

James chuckled. "Here I thought I was just good in bed."

"Another crack like that, and I will push you out of my lap," Edward joked. At James's pout, he kissed his forehead. Rising, he brushed his hand across James's forehead. "I can't lose you," he said, his voice faltering.

James felt something wet hit his face and reached up to grasp Edward's hand. He squeezed it and felt more of Edward's tears falling on his face. He was annoyed by it, at first, but chose to allow himself to be fussed over. Letting go, he brushed his hand against Edward's face, feeling the tears streaked there. "You haven't," he replied quietly.

Edward swallowed to get a hold of himself, and slowly smiled. James curled up against him and closed his eyes once more.  
XXXXXX

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Edward warned.

James nodded from where he lay before him, naked save for a blanket covering his lower half. Edward hesitated before reaching over to the glass beside him, and James stopped him by sitting up on his palms, the blanket slipping slightly. “Edward, if you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.”

Edward glanced down at the fallen blanket, and smirked. “I’m sorry, but that is too tempting.” Kissing his lover on the forehead, he reached back into the glass, and pulled out a few ice cubes.

James’s eyes followed Edward’s fingers as he rubbed the ice cubes in-between them in anticipation. Leaning forward, he lowered them toward James’s skin. James hissed, grabbing the headboard above himself tightly as the ice pressed against him. Edward rubbed each ice cube gently against one of James’s nipples. James bit down heavily upon his lip, his scream muted to a rumbling in his throat. He wouldn’t be able to call out, for fear of getting someone’s attention, but he enjoyed the challenge of it, as to how far he could hold out. Three taps against the headboard would do, if he’d had enough.

Edward slowly ran the ice down over James’s chest, the melting ice dripping over and across it. Goosebumps formed on James’s skin from the cold, and Edward bent his head down to lick the dripping water. Lapping at it, he caught what remained of the ice in his mouth. Sitting up, he crunched down on it, swallowing. 

James smiled coyly up at him, his words broken up by breaths. “Want to warm me up?”

Edward dragged his fingers over James’s nipple, prompting the other man to suck in a breath. “Certainly.”

James groaned raggedly as his lover crawled over him, his skin sensitive to his touch. “Ed…”

Edward smiled slyly at that, and James’s breath caught. Cupping the back of his head, he leaned down to kiss him. Edward’s lips ran over his gently, unused to the cold. He licked up against them, with James responding by meeting his tongue with his own and grabbing at him in a needy manner to pull him closer. Edward made an amused grunt and nipped at James’s bottom lip.

James grasped Edward’s wrists at that, and began to grind against him, hissing from the cold.

“Don’t,” Edward whispered, “Just feel me.” James slowly relaxed. Running his hands up his flanks, Edward kissed slowly along his sides. “My poor dear,” Edward commented, “So cold, and so vulnerable. Let me take care of you.”

Edward’s strokes across James’s chest, left sensitive from the cold, prickled against his skin. His tongue rasped over him, catching the droplets of water. James moaned, arching backward against the pillow. Edward smiled against his stomach, and licked downward, tracing his tongue over his stomach. James gave a strangled chuckle at that, and Edward smiled, kissing his stomach before moving downward.

Edward lifted the blanket and stroked along the soft flesh of James’s inner thigh, playfully giving him a pinch. James winced, and groaned, his fingers grasping at the sheets in anticipation. Edward curled his fingers about James’s cock, and slowly pumped him.

“Ed,” he groaned, his one hand trailing along the pillow. Edward grasped it. “Please…” He grabbed at the blanket, his hand twisting in it. For as much as he wanted to pull it off, he still felt cold.

“Please what?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Stop…” James groaned, gritting his teeth as Edward gently tugged at his nipple, “Ngh, teasing…”

Edward stilled his hand, and leaned his head down to ask, “Then what, James?”

James clenched his fist in the blanket. “Fuck me,” he hissed. He dragged the blanket off himself.

Edward smiled, and grasped his hips. “Come here, my beauty.”

James slipped toward him his breaths short with anticipation. Edward placed his thumb to the slit of James’s cock, and spread about the precum. Drawing the palm of his hand across his mouth, he savored James’s taste. James grunted as he felt Edward slide into him, moving slowly due to his sensitivity.

Edward dragged his hand up and down on James’s penis, stroking him as he drove into him, only to pull back and drive in again.

James squirmed about, ragged gasps escaping from his mouth. He whined out Edward’s name, needing more sensation.

Edward liked having James like this, squirming and mewling in a needy fashion under him. He was completely in his hands, and safe in his bed. James’s ass clenched about Edward’s penis, causing the older man to throw back his head in ecstasy. With groaned words that Edward himself couldn’t understand, he came, his fingers tightening about James’s shoulders.

James grunted in frustration beneath him, feeling so close. Edward raised his head groggily and cupped James’s face. Rasping his tongue over him, he licked at the sweat that was running down it. “Easy, darling,” he crooned, his free hand slipping down between James’s legs.

James groaned as he felt Edward gently tugging on his balls, coaxing him. Moving his hand, Edward grasped his penis to stroke, working him slowly, at first. James growled in his throat, and Edward began to pick up the pace, sliding his fingers over the soft organ. “Let me give you pleasure,” Edward guided gently.

Shutting his eyes, James felt Edward’s hand clap over his mouth. With a strangled shout, James came, lurching backward to pant on the pillows. Edward gave him an affectionate kiss on the neck before tugging a cloth off the nightstand. Exhausted, James stared at him as he cleaned him off.

Edward gripped the blanket to tug back over his lover. “Love you,” Edward crooned, covering him fully, “So much.” James pulled Edward down for a kiss at that, enjoying his warmth and closeness. Drawing out, he rested against him. “Perhaps we should clean you up,” Edward commented.

“Not moving. Tired,” James mumbled.

Edward tsked his tongue. “You’ve certainly been quite lazy as of late, James.”

“Not working,” he muttered, “Doesn’t matter.”

Edward chuckled, and kissed James’s forehead before rising to find a towel for him.

XXXXXX

"James Frost," his controller read from his file. James sat quietly before him, disliking how impersonal the man was. He wondered if all drivers were considered numbers on this railway, or if it was just the steam drivers, or, more to the point, if it was just expendable, inexperienced men like him that were.

"Bit of a joyrider, aren't you?" The controller commented, "We give you the old engine, and you nearly shake it apart on the rails."

"It still has power left in it," James replied, leaning forward on his chair, "I wanted to be able to bring that forward."

"With little consideration for safety or regulation of roles," the controller returned, "That engine was meant for slow goods train work, nothing more, and nothing less."

James frowned, and saw no further point in arguing. "Yes, sir."

The controller put his file down. "Regardless, your disciplinary record is satisfactory enough, though I hear your arguments with the diesel drivers are cause for concern."

James bit back the argument that that was all drivers, these days. "Sorry, sir." Nevertheless, it wasn't the best idea to nearly get into a fist fit with Connelly. No one was looking when Connelly detached James's couplings, causing the trucks to roll backward down the line, but they were looking when James stomped over to him, anger on his face. James had walked off with a bruised ego, and a lecture of what constituted proper behavior on the Yorkshire Railway ringing in his ears.

"In summary, what I have is a driver that is attached, rather much, to a museum piece," he commented with an amused smile, stroking his beard at the notion.

James felt embarrassed at that, but replied, "I wish to do my job to the best of my ability. That includes knowing my engine."

"Though not knowing the needs of your railway," his controller replied with disdain.

James said nothing, not wanting to dig himself deeper. He wondered if this meant a demotion, or worse, until the controller opened his mouth again. "Your engine has been bought, James. It will be sent to the island of Sodor. Apparently, the controller there has an affinity for museum pieces like your own. Considering your less than exemplary record there, perhaps you will do better there."

James felt a mixture of shock and relief. While he was glad to not lose his profession, he was disturbed by the prospect of his only means of keeping it being to travel a far distance. He knew little about Sodor, and he did not wish to leave his blossoming relationship with Roger. However, he had little choice.

"Your engine is set to leave in three months," the controller stated, "Either you leave with it, or you're out of a job. Fair?"

James nodded. "Then I'll be on the boat."

Walking along the tracks, and hearing the diesel horns blare in the distance, James wondered how he was going to tell Roger.

XXXXXX

"Yes, yes, I know, thank you," the Fat Controller said into his phone's receiver. Setting the phone back in its cradle, he rubbed his eyes. The day, to put it lightly, had not gone well. Paperwork was stacked on his desk about the incident at the smelter's yard.

While he was relieved that James and his crew were all right, the fact remained that they had been nearly killed on duty, and James's engine had suffered damage. Crashes were one thing, as while they caused damage, there was no intention of force on another human being. He was lucky that James wasn't seeking further action.

But then there was Edward, folding his bony hands together, and saying in a polite yet firm tone, "I've worked for you for a long time, sir, but this is the first time where I will say that I feel unsafe on this railway. If you value my employment, you will take that into account." Employees were replaceable, but their training was not. Not to mention that if he did allow Edward to walk, Nia would need retrained, and that went without even considering his team's loyalty. Then there was Toby and Henrietta, as well. If both Toby and Edward left, it went without saying that at the very least he would also lose Thomas, Percy, and James. Even with Rebecca's training going uninterrupted, the remaining team members wouldn't be enough to carry the workload. And with him still conducting interviews for the replacement driver for Lady, it would be too much.

He glanced over the toy model of the warship diesel on his map. Dean's termination would have to go without saying. He had hired Dean on the fact that he was the only man trained properly to drive the uniquely constructed warship diesel, however that had run its course. The warship diesel would have to stay on the siding for as long as it had to take, or until it had to be sold for scrap, whichever came first.

He didn't have anything against Dean personally, but the fact remained that this was over the line. Previously, he told himself that there was little he could have done about the rivalry between diesel and steam drivers, as there was more concern about the logistics of the railway. While he still told himself that his previous manner of thinking had held true, he felt as if he had been wrong.

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Pen still in hand, he called, "Come in."

The door opened, and Dean Tenpenny, wearing a dark suit coat and pants, walked in. His posture was different from usual, in that he was a bit slumped, and withdrawn. "Could I speak to you for a few minutes, sir?"

The Fat Controller was skeptical. "I have a few minutes, Dean."

"That's fine. This won't be long," Dean replied, reaching into his coat.

Laying down his pen, the Fat Controller inquired, "Then what will this conversation be about?"

Dean took out a paper and placed it upon the Fat Controller's desk. "My resignation."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter got long. So here are my references to Thomas the Magic Railroad and Journey Beyond Sodor. There are more OC's in this. As a general note, Spencer is Thomas's surname in this. It's a reference to the Hellraiser series. The character Spencer himself won't be appearing in this. The separatist issue and Donald's conversation with James was from a collaboration with Sabbat Spiral. The mention of James's "old times" with Annie and Clarabel is a reference to The Adventure Begins. Cut version is on FF.Net, Tumblr, and deviantart.


	6. Chapter 6

"Oi, you little shits!" Carl "Cranky" Hodge yelled into his microphone as his crane's spotlight illuminated two boys climbing on a few dockside crates, "Get away from there!"

Below him, Porter stopped his engine to shine his signal lamp over the two boys, who took off running.

"They never learn, do they?" Michael "Big Mickey" Shaw commented over the radio. The crane was currently positioned away, its spotlight illuminating the approaching form of a tugboat coming in for the night.

"End of shift can't come quickly enough," Cranky grumbled, stamping out his cigarette in the ashtray, "Gotta get used to twelve hours again with Carly sick."

"Gonna shake it off at the pub afterward?" Big Mickey asked, signaling in Morse code to Dexter "Hercules" Burnett that it was safe to dock.

"When she's better, sure. Single malt will do her well," Cranky replied with a shrug, brushing graying strands of his hair under his cap. At Samuel "Salty" Brown's horn, he lifted heavy bags of flour out of the way.

Beyond the busy goods yard, a mermaid pouring out a jug of water was illuminated in bright lights, the shadows of the pub's patrons within passing back and forth.

Marco Skiff lounged alongside the bar with Captain Stuart Holmes, who was teasing Harold. "I can't see why we would need the Coast Guard. Isn't that a tad redundant, don't you think?"

"Well, I wouldn't need to be there if the Navy was actually vigilant," Harold replied, throwing back his drink with his pinky raised, "I suppose it just can't be helped."

Skiff took Captain's side with a carefree smile. "Well, you do seem to have your head in the clouds most of the time, Harold."

Harold smiled at that. "Someone has to." Skiff was reaching a healthy weight, he noticed. It was a marked improvement over Skiff's previous underweight state while impressed into employment by the now incarcerated Sailor John. He also seemed more confident now, with how he leaned on the bar and chattered excitedly to Captain. He smiled at that.

Positioned in the middle of the room was a table with Emily and Mavis sitting at it. A lamp dangled over the top of it. Behind the table was a bisected chalkboard, with one half bearing the name "Steamies," and the other "Diesels." The "Steamies" column had nineteen tally marks, while the "Diesels" had twenty-two. Toby was currently keeping score, moodily tapping the chalk against the side of the board. Henrietta sat at a nearby table with Caitlin and her brother Connor, who were cheering for Emily. On Mavis's side, Bear, Frank, Pip, and her sister Emma cheered for her.

"Come on, Mavis!"

"Get her, Emily!"

Cheers sounded as the women, their hands locked, grunted and groaned in an arm-wrestling match.

"Not bad," Mavis grunted, "You've been getting stronger, Emily. I'm impressed."

Emily gave a strained laugh. "Wasn't getting stronger just for you, love." Sweat brimmed on Mavis's face above her grin. Their hands, clasped tightly, wobbled, Emily's face red. Opting to change the subject to give herself time to wear Mavis out, she asked, "So, how's it been at the Dieselworks since Tenpenny quit?"

"Not as if we didn't see it coming, if you asked me," Mavis replied, grasping onto a handhold positioned at the side of the table, and squeezing it to keep herself on balance.

Emily grunted, and swung their hands to the side. Mavis barely recovered. A small cheer went up around them. Caitlin toasted to Emily and downed her drink. "You ever were scared of him, though?" Emily asked, strands of her hair falling over her forehead.

"He's a big man. Of course, I would be," Mavis replied simply. Emily glanced down at the movement of Mavis's breasts under her shirt from the strain, and Mavis winked at her. Sobering, she continued, "His temper was a problem." Leaning forward, she glanced up at her with a smirk. "Something that you would know, Emily."

Emily glared at that, prompting Mavis to snicker, and push down on her hand from Emily's broken concentration. Emily gasped, grabbing her handhold to keep her balance. "The problem with a temper is that it is something that you must live with, otherwise," Emily groaned and cried out as Mavis brought her hand down, "you'll be consumed by it."

Emily's hand hit the table, and the cheers died away.

XXXXXX

Rain hit Dean Tenpenny's umbrella as he stood at the bus station, a battered valise in his other hand. He knew that he was leaving in disgrace from the railway, and that saddened him. What disturbed him was how he had been fully prepared to kill James, in that moment of anger. He lowered his head in regret. He'd seen that sort of violence in the slums he'd called his childhood home, though it was hard for him to leave it behind.

Beatings by his father were a lesson in that, one he had to learn all too well. His mother told fortunes out of the back room of their small flat, with a cracked crystal ball, and curtains that were missing beads. While derided as a fraud by her neighbors, given her tendency to not tell good or gentle fortunes, she was mindful of the supernatural, and the evil eye, instilling her fear into Dean of it. Reading his palm, she said to him, "Watch in the future, son. You will suffer a grave ill."

The reading was vague, but he supposed that his mother, while a charlatan, was right, in a roundabout way. People like her annoyed him, just as Lady and Proteus did. He wasn't at fault for Proteus quitting – Proteus had to leave in order to tend to family back on the mainland, no matter what rumors Sir Handel spread. As far as Lady was concerned, however, he thought that it served her right. They were hired to do a job, and not to entertain at a sideshow.

A pair of footsteps sloshed through the rain toward him, and he turned to see Sherman "Skarloey" Kistler standing before him, the old man holding an umbrella of his own. "Come to see me off, Skar?" Dean asked, embarrassment in his voice.

Skarloey frowned at him. "Dean, why did you try to kill James?"

Dean looked away from him. While Rusty ran maintenance on the narrow-gauge railway, Dean's employment also brought him near the vicinity, especially given how rockslides were a hazard in the quarry. "Skar" was simply easier to transmit, especially given when time was short.

"Because he wouldn't stop heckling me." He put down the valise to place his head in his hand. "Yeah, I know it's not a reason to kill someone, but he was getting on my last nerve. Wasn't just him, though." He lowered his hand to look back him. "I get angry about things, and if I'm pushed enough, I can and have hurt people. It hasn't happened for a long time, though, but it's always there in the background."

"So, your frustrations at work pile and pile until this happens," Skarloey replied. Dean slowly nodded, and Skarloey shook his head. "It's for the best that you quit, then, Dean, but you need to get help. Going elsewhere isn't going to change anything."

"I can't," Dean replied gruffly, the bus roaring in the distance. He felt torn, not wanting to stop talking to Skarloey, but thinking that he had little choice.

"Why not?" Skarloey challenged, "Why not try?"

"Because it's not going to change anything," Dean muttered.

Skarloey shook his head at him. "Dean, forgive me, but if you think that, then I am truly sorry."

"Why?"

"Of course, things can't go back to how they used to be, but you don't have to exile yourself from this island. You can still live here, and I can recommend someone to talk to for psychiatric help." He shook his head. "Dean, you aren't evil, but you need to address your own problems. What were you trying to accomplish by going back to the mainland?" The bus pulled up just then.

Dean spared it one glance. "A place to start over again."

"On your own, with no one to help you?" Skarloey asked. At Dean's nod, he commented, "Whereas here, there are people who care about you, even if it is just a few."

The bus driver closed the door and took off. Dean glanced after a it. "A few? That's the best I ever did?"

"It's better than no one, is it?" Skarloey asked, coming up to lay his hand on Tepenny's prosthetic arm. Dean turned back to glance at him, and Skarloey smiled. "You can do other things, you know. You have two arms."

Dean slowly nodded. "All right." He followed after Skarloey, leaving the shelter behind.

XXXXXX

As it turned out, Roger was all too happy with the prospect of James moving away.

"Well then, that will make it easy for both of us – a clean slate, as it were."

James was surprised by Roger's reaction. Standing and walking over to stop a record on Roger's player, he asked, "What do you mean?"

Annoyed by the sudden loss of the music, Roger tilted his head. "Do you mind?"

James shook his head. "No, I want an answer. What do you mean, a clean slate?"

"Simple, no calling or letters. It would be difficult, anyway," he replied with a wave of a hand, "We already have a difficult time with seeing each other, given your job."

James raised an eyebrow. "Out with it, then. My job isn't just the problem here, is it?"

Roger sighed. "James, we need to talk." He patted the seat next to him on the couch.

James shook his head. "Don't patronize me."

"All right, then I won't," Roger stood up. "This has been a long time in coming, and the fact that it surprises you now shows me that my decision is correct."

"What did I do?" James demanded.

Roger put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "You talk about yourself so often. You always are concerned about how you look, and how you are thought of. It gets old, James. I just want to, at times, enjoy a quiet dinner, and talk about the books I have read. Every time I bring up a volume, you divert the conversation."

James frowned at him. "I have read some of those books you recommended, but I can't get the same value out of them. I'm not an intellectual like you are, Roger."

Roger waved a hand. "This is the point, James. I gave those recommendations to enjoy, and show what I like, to help us have something to talk about. It wasn't test you or make me seem better than you."

James lowered his head. "Why didn't you tell me that?"

"I did!" Roger exclaimed, slapping his hands by his sides, "I wanted you to read to me! I wanted you to give me your opinions on the stories over dinner! You rarely if ever did! Did you even read them?"

James scowled. "Of course, I did, when I could, but it's hard to concentrate when I'm afraid of losing my job. My work was being taken out from under me by the diesels."

"Then work somewhere else! This is not hard!" Roger exclaimed.

James's scowl deepened. "Has it ever crossed your mind that I might have stayed because I'm good at something, for once? None of my educational learning got me anywhere."

"You didn't try hard enough!"

James let go of the record player to move angrily toward him. "I was going to be kicked out by my uncle and had nothing to my name. You got tertiary education. Bit of a difference, there."

Roger looked away from him. "Perhaps if you'd spent less time picking up men in pubs, and more time looking for a better job, this would not have happened."

James glared at him. "You just don't want to be involved with a tart like me, do you? I know how you think of me."

Roger met his glare. "I never gave you any shite over how many men you were with, in the past. Maybe if you would have thought of yourself less, you would've had better relationships."

"You were a fucking virgin before you met me."

Roger looked genuinely hurt at that, and James hesitated before continuing, his voice breaking, "You don't know what it was to be lonely and think that your worth was only based on your looks."

"You think I don't know what it's like to be lonely?" Roger asked quietly, holding out his arms. "Look around you, James. Look how small this room is, and how it's filled with little more than books."

James frowned. "Then why brush me off, and not even write?"

"Your insulting me just now is one example of why," Roger replied plainly, "Your temper and your narcissistic behavior make your hard to live with. Speaking quite frankly, I'm better off."

James, incensed, stepped toward him, the coffee table between them. His hands splayed on top of it, their reflections mirrored back at them from a decorative glass bowl. "What're you saying, that everyone is better off without me?"

"I didn't! Stop twisting my words, James!" Roger exclaimed with a note of desperation in his voice. "You take one criticism and blow it out of proportion. It's hard to live with you!"

"Damn you!" James yelled, picking up the glass bowl on the table to smash it. Shards fell everywhere. James gasped at what he had done. Slowly looking up at Roger, he saw him, staring at him in shock, flinching away from him with his hand over his mouth. "Roger, I—"

"Get out," Roger muttered at him.

"Please—"

"I said get out," Roger cut him off in a firmer tone of voice, "Get your coat, and go. We're finished."

James closed his mouth against a sob and stared at him a moment before grabbing his coat from the hook. Roger's footsteps sounded after him, and he turned in surprise to see him grasping his coat and scarf, as well. "Best I help you get back. You're in a state now."

James wanted to tell him no but decided against it. If it meant seeing him longer, then that was fine.

Conversation between them was sparse. There were a few questions about Sodor from Roger. "Seems like a small island. You sure you won't be bored?"

James shrugged. "Not that I have a choice. May as well make the most of it, I suppose. I'll be happy to be away from this city." He glanced over the streets in contemplation. "I never wanted to die here. Now I'm getting my wish."

Roger chuckled, and James glanced over at him in annoyance. "We are so different, you and I," he commented. James glared at him but said nothing.

When the tenement loomed, however, James felt his heart leap into his throat. He gazed over at Roger and felt terribly alone. And Roger just smiled and said, "Well then, good luck to you."

James couldn't take it anymore. "Roger!" He cried out in agonized voice, clasping onto his shoulder. He whimpered, not being able to fully articulate his feelings. Even if he didn't like Roger very much, he didn't want him to leave, as he wouldn't see him again.

Roger stepped backward, yanking himself out of his grip. "What the hell – get off of me!" James felt hurt by the other man's words as Roger turned and ran off. The next moment, however, he remembered that he was out in a public area.

James glanced around quickly, wondering if anyone had seen his outburst. Jamming his hands in his pockets, he quickly sauntered off the remaining distance. Well, he supposed, he had gotten what he wanted – Sodor was all that was left to him now.

XXXXXX

Thomas shut the front door behind him with his foot and knelt to pick up the pile of mail on the floor. He ran a hand through his hair absent-mindedly as he went up the stairs to his room.

The railway was quiet for the week following the announcement of Dean Tenpenny's departure. Conversations between railway workers became short, and quiet, with the passengers noticing, and moving along in an orderly fashion, albeit with less enthusiasm than before. Whatever it was, it had to give, Thomas thought to himself.

Heading over to the bed, he sat on it, and went through the letters, frowning at the bills that he lay aside. As he turned over a postcard from Ashima, he felt more of his respect for the Fat Controller whittling away. While he had at first seen him as a source of good sense, he seemed to be too lax in dealing with the rivalries on the railway.

The remaining letter caught Thomas off-guard. With a shaking hand, he held up the envelope from Manchester, and read off the name Abigail Wright. He hadn't heard that name spoken to him, outside of his mother and father showing him his adoption papers when he came of age. "We raised you as our own," his father explained, putting a hand on his shoulder, "For all intents and purposes, you're my son, Thomas Spencer."

He hadn't bothered looking up Abigail, given how he couldn't remember his birth mother, the orphanage's recorded age for his entry being at eighteen months. He'd thought that it had been the end of it, though he still felt disturbed by the revelation – and who wouldn't have?

The letter fell out of his hand, and Thomas buried his face in the palms of his hands, ashamed at what he had read. The front door opened on the floor below, and Percy called, "Tom, you here?"

Sniffling, Thomas called down, "Yes."

Percy's footsteps sounded up to him. "So I was thinking of a roast tonight, and it would be better if you got the meat, because—what's wrong?"

Thomas raised his head, revealing puffy eyes. "A letter came for me today." He held it out to Percy.

Taking it from him, Percy quickly read over it. Anger rose in him. "This woman never contacted you before, but now she's asking you for money? That's absurd!"

"That's not the point, Percy, and you know it," Thomas hissed. Percy frowned at being caught attempting to skirt the crux of the issue. Thomas jabbed a finger at the floor for emphasis. "I wasn't just adopted, I was born out of wedlock by two cheaters who couldn't keep it in their pants!" He shook his head. "Damn it! What does that make me?!"

Percy shook his head. "Tom—"

Thomas snatched the letter out of his hand. "I'm burning this."

"And what, drop the whole thing, Thomas?" Percy confronted, "I know you – this isn't going to just go away."

"We're done here!" Thomas snapped, stomping down the stairs, "I shouldn't have even brought it up!"

Percy shook his head and grabbed the abandoned letters. He decided it would be better to not let the matter go, given how disturbed Thomas was by it. He nodded to himself as he thought about how Thomas was close to Annie and Clarabel. Perhaps one of them could help – it was worth a try.

XXXXXX

There were only so many things he could do while his engine was in the works.

James was antsy in the townhouse, the hours stretching slowly away from him. While he did appreciate some time off, it was odd to him just how much work filled his day.

Edward kissed him gently on the nose. "I'll be home later this afternoon, my love," he said before departing for the first run.

The townhouse, while not at first glance dirty, revealed its unseemly interior more and more as James began to clean. Dust bunnies collected in corners and behind shelves, cobwebs hung across junctures of walls, and grime was on the windowsills. With Edward and him tending to be tired upon coming home, it made sense that their house would eventually fall into such a state. Cleaning it disgusted him, and prompted him to later spend a good half hour in the bath.

Despite it all, however, James knew that cleaning would only fill a day's worth of activity, and there were a few things that he wouldn't finish. Namely, he thought to himself as he closed the cellar door, the laundry.

"Daddy, please, no! I won't do it again!" James had sobbed in fear as his father had dragged him by the arm toward the basement door. The remains of a new chair, accidentally broken by James climbing on and jumping off it, lay on the floor.

"And just how stupid do you think I am, you lying little shit?" His father demanded, "You'd break everything in this house, and who do you think has to pay for it?"

James dug his heels into the floor, twisting his head to the side to see his pregnant mother emerging from another room, and a swaddled, crying Maude in her arms. "Mummy!" He cried out in desperate fear.

However, the look she gave him was completely blank. Walking past him, she pat Maude's back, as if in a trance.

Depositing him on the stairs, his father hissed at him, "Maybe this will give you time to think about what you've done!"

James stood up quickly and wobbled on the stairs. By the time he'd grasped the railing for support, the basement door had swung shut, leaving him to pound and cry on it to be let out. Wearing himself out, James put his face in his knees to cry, and felt utterly alone.

Eventually, his father did let him out the following evening, and James was utterly silent as he picked at his supper, worried that even the slightest wrong movement or word passed would get him thrown back down there.

James, despite his years, didn't want to go down to the cellar. Even on days when he had to do laundry, he had Edward sit on the stairs and talk to him. He felt disgusted at his own weakness.

The couch had a different manner of significance, James thought as he picked up the cushions to clean up underneath them.

A fortnight after the had begun seeing each other, Edward's hands had been unsteady, much unlike what was typical of him. His hand rested tentatively on James's upper leg. "Could I touch you?" He'd asked quietly.

As an answer, James brought him to himself for a kiss. Time had fallen away from them, leaving an exhausted James to nod off on Edward's shoulder.

He awoke at the sound of footsteps, and, much to his surprise, found that he was still on the couch, albeit covered with a blanket, and cushioned by a few pillows. With Edward's home being too small for a guest room, and Edward not being ready to have James in his bed yet, he tended to turn James out at a certain time.

Edward, albeit a bit tussled looking, greeted James from the doorway, a tray of scones and tea in his hands. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

At James's nod, Edward gently set down the tray, and leaned down to kiss James's forehead. James, drawing the blanket to himself, sat up to make room for him. Edward picked up his cup of tea, and gently blew on it. Biting into the scone, James thought of a few things he had to do during the day, but just as easily let go of them. He drew Edward to himself and let the older man relax against him, James's arm around his waist.

That was not to say that their life was perfect, James thought as he sat down at his sewing machine. He picked up the list of commissions beside him and decided that it was best to make up for lost time. Luke, Nia, and Rebecca were his best customers for now, Luke due to having only a few articles of clothing, and Nia and Rebecca due to needing heavier clothing.

As he ran the needle through the cloth, his fingers twitched, leading to imperfections that forced him to start over. James employed the fabric ripper liberally, his breaths short from agitation.

James didn't hate Edward, but there were a few things about him that he disliked, just as he knew that Edward probably disliked several things about him.

Most principally, Edward's submissive nature annoyed James. He previously took Edward's working on the line for the Fat Controller while he, Gordon, and Henry went on strike as Edward thinking that he was above them. However, the reality of the situation was different: Edward just completed the work that he was given, seeing no alternative to it.

James drew his fingers away from the sewing needle quickly, not wanting to repeat the mistake that gave him the scar on the palm of his hand.

"If the railway ever closes, here's how you'll know," he'd overheard Edward joking to a concerned Nia, "Someone will be carrying me over his shoulder."

Fabric ripped, and he snarled in frustration, bringing his hand down on the table. He breathed heavily to compose himself. He would have to start over. James set the garment aside, and glanced up at the clock, seeing he had two hours left until Edward returned home.

He glanced around at the small settings of the room and pushed himself away from the table with a foot, distancing himself physically form the bright colored fabrics and stitches.

He knew that he had settled for Edward, and Edward, in his desperation, had settled for him, as well. Edward was older than him, and, as a result, lacked the stamina to be an effective lover. Still, though, Edward was passionate in his own way. His kisses and touches were genuine, and gentle, though Edward was keener to touch him than much else. At least he attempted to satisfy him, which James welcomed.

James knew that there were still pains that Edward continued to hide from him. There were physical pains, groans that broke through Edward's typical hard-working demeanor. The grunts and groans disturbed James, and he wondered as to how long he had before Edward's health started failing. He had time, he knew, and Edward had told him that he had faith in his decisions, but he began to wonder as to what Edward would allow him to do.

Edward didn't like a fuss being made about himself, and that would work to his detriment. He already lacked the ability to run for long periods of time, and his body frame was continuing to slowly shed muscle. When Edward had coughing fits in his sleep, or snored due to a stuffy nose, James found himself sitting up in bed, and listening to him breathe, his skin prickling with anxiety.

He had to get Edward off Sodor, and to somewhere that was more conducive to his health. The problem was, he didn't think that Edward would ever come around to it. He'd enjoyed Wales, but that was temporary, and, in a way, Edward was a bit in his shell. While he couldn't cling to James's arm in public without turning heads while on vacation, he was still reliant on James for most things.

There were a few objects that Edward owned, which dotted the townhouse in quiet corners. There was a gilt frame that held the images of a younger Edward, along with a younger Hiro and Eames "Rheneas" Ainsley, posing in front of the waterfall the latter's call sign was derived from. The parlor clock was carved with images of angels, though Edward commented that he would have to wind it by hand to keep it working properly.

James had his suspicions about them previously, especially given how the surname Wells came up a few times on library steps, and on bricks in old buildings. Edward, while not forthcoming about it, admitted it when he asked him. "Yes, I did come from money, for all the good that it did me when my parents knew of my true nature. I was out on the streets in my teenage years with a few items I could pawn, or sell," Edward admitted quietly, drawing his blanket close about himself. He shook his head. "Trevor and his late wife took me in. They needed assistance on the farm, given how young their children were at the time. I was able to finish my schooling, and eventually move away."

James held in a groan at the sound of the front door opening and rose from his machine.

Above all, Edward got to keep working while he remained here.

Still, as he watched Edward take off his coat, James found that he couldn't yell at him. He could see the wrinkles on his neck and hands, the old scars he knew well, and the rippling of Edward's thin muscles under the fabric of his clothing. There was that familiarity he had with him, and that he knew he couldn't throw away.

Edward turned to tiredly glance at him. "Jim, is something wrong?" The weariness in Edward's expression caught James's attention, and he realized that Edward was waiting for him to snap at him, or perhaps to argue.

Instead, however, he said, "Dinner's ready."

Edward's smile held a tinge of relief. Wrapping his arm around James's shoulders, he kissed his cheek. "Thank you, love."

James watched Edward walk away with a sigh. He wasn't satisfied, he knew that, but what he had needed to be enough.

XXXXXX

James tiredly walked back to his flat, the sun sinking beyond the roofs of the buildings around him.

One week remained until his engine would loaded on the ship to Sodor, and he with it. Good riddance to the bad memories of Roger, though the memory still stung in his mind. He was ready to just sit down and enjoy his quiet afternoon.

A tenant passing by James in the hallway and side-eyed him, and physically moved away from him. James paused, disturbed by that, and felt fear for a moment. However, he brushed it off as he continued – no one could have seen him that night, or at least, he hoped.

"Frost!"

His teeth clicked against the anger in Wheeler's voice, and he realized that he had been wrong. Turning, he headed toward his landlord's office. Wheeler was currently seated and glaring at him through his spectacles. "Close the door."

James obediently did so, though he did try to play it off. "Did I forget something, sir?"

Wheeler glared at him, and James noticed a vein throbbing in the side of the man's head. "Don't play dumb, you fruit." James swallowed heavily, and it felt like the floor had given out under him. Wheeler continued, "I should have known. You're lucky that I don't call the police, having a tart like you under my own roof. How many men have you been under the covers with? Just the one? Two? Three perhaps?"

"He was my partner," James growled in anger.

"I don't give a damn," Wheeler hissed, "Whatever you call it, it is illegal and immoral. I have already had tenants wishing to move out because of you."

"But I haven't harmed anyone!" James exclaimed desperately.

"You've certainly taken to corrupting minors," Wheeler commented, reaching behind his desk, and holding up the commissioned dress James had made for another tenant's daughter. James's eyes widened at that, and Wheeler put it away. "I want you out of here in one hour. Don't bother cleaning up the room."

James felt disturbed as to what he would find upstairs, given Wheeler's words. "All right, I'll collect my things."

Wheeler held up a finger. "One hour, or I will call the police."

James hurried up the stairs, whispers sounding through the walls of the other flats.

His flat door stood slightly open, and James's heart beat quickly as he reached out a hand to push it. He wasn't sure who all had been allowed in there by Wheeler, and whether anyone was still inside. The door swung slowly, and, bracing himself, he stepped through it.

He fell back against the doorway in shock. The parlor was a wreck, with the chairs overturned, and the lamp smashed. The curtains to the window were shredded, and the rug had cigarette holes burned into it. His radio was broken to pieces on the floor. Pillows and cushions had been taken away. The decorative flower pot was smashed on the floor, with daffodils and water everywhere. The sewing machine had been knocked on the floor, though it was still intact. James's box of thread and spools lay next to the foot pedal, most of which were gone, with a needle lying half-hidden under a spool.

James felt utterly exposed, and disturbed, not wanting to get up off the wall. He felt tired and hungry, and wanted to cry. However, he forced himself to rise from the wall, and assess the damage. If he didn't move quickly, he feared, then he would spend his time crying in an institution.

Stopping by the sewing machine, he found that it was battered, but undamaged. Picking up the box, he shut it to carry under his arm, thankful for the needle inside.

The kitchenette had been raided. Cupboards and the refrigerator door hung open bare. Pots, pans and silverware were missing, while broken cups, glasses, and plates were on the floor. Stains from upset food and ingredients were on the counter and floor, which was strewn with trash from the overturned bin. James turned the sink's tap on and scooped up handfuls of water to drink and splash his face.

"DIE FAGGOT" stared back at him from the bathroom mirror, the letters bright red. James's cologne, shaving cream, toothpaste, and pomade were broken on the floor. He managed to dig the soap bar out of the bathtub, albeit with his sleeve getting covered in splatters of shampoo from the broken bottle. His toothbrush floated in a urine-filled toilet, and his razor was missing. His towel was shredded from where it hung.

That left the bedroom, which had a jagged slash on the door. The bed was in disarray, the alarm clock and lamp on the nightstand broken. The few books he had left on there were gone.

James pulled back the blanket, and was showered in feathers and torn linen, the pillows and sheets shredded. He choked back a sob as he saw his teddy bear lying decapitated on top of it, the stuffing everywhere. Gingerly, he scooped his friend's two halves into a pile with the stuffing, deciding that he would fix him as well as he could. Kneeling, James breathed a sigh of relief to see that his trunk was still under the bed, although pulling it out found that it was battered. The locking mechanism, thankfully, was intact. He placed the box and scooped his teddy bear inside, along with the mutilated blanket, shredded sheets, and what remained of a pillow. He would get the sewing machine on his way out.

His clothes, those that remained, were shredded, and James thought sardonically to himself that whoever had taken his razor must have been having a grand old time with it. There was one pair of shoes left in the closet, only because they were so battered. James willingly took them.

He stopped in the parlor and loaded the machine. He took one last look at his flat and thought of how he had managed to earn enough to have it all broken at his feet.

James's trunk bumped down the stairs after him, and Wheeler glanced up from his paperwork. "Five minutes," he commented dryly.

James put his key down on Wheeler's desk, and his landlord hissed, "Who will pay for the damages?"

"I didn't let them in," James growled, only to cover his mouth in fear as Wheeler began reaching for his phone.

James quickly reached into his wallet, and retrieved his checkbook and pen, scrambling to get them on top of the desk. He quickly wrote down a figure, cursing himself for giving up over half of his life savings.

"You think that's enough?" Wheeler asked, his tone annoyed with James.

James swallowed the lump in his throat, knowing that his remaining alternative after this was to get on his knees and beg. Shredding the first check by hand, he hastily wrote another. He scrawled down a larger figure and showed it to him. "Is this enough?"

Wheeler stared it, and James hoped that he wouldn't charge him more, otherwise his entire life's savings would be depleted. "I suppose so. Sign it, and get out, you damn lizzie."

James quickly scrawled his signature before Wheeler could change his mind, and all but bolted, lugging his trunk after him.

James dragged the trunk down the dark street, swallowing down a scream at it all. He needed somewhere to stay, and with what little he had left of his savings, a flop house would have to do. Even if there were bugs in it, it would be better than sleeping outside, and risk being mugged.

"One more week," he said to himself, the words spinning in his head like a mantra as his face burned with shame, just one more week, it would all be over. He would be on the boat to Sodor with his engine, and far away from this wretched city.

XXXXXX

James's eyes shot open. Blinking, he turned over, his hand fumbling about on his pillow. His forehead brushed up against the headboard, and he let out a sigh, leaning against the cool surface. 

A confused murmur drew his attention, and he glanced over to see Edward, his eyes still closed, stirring sluggishly. He placed his hand on Edward's shoulder, settling him. Edward relaxed, and James, tugging the covers over him, slid out of bed.

The townhouse seemed alien to him in the darkness, his vision swimming from lack of sleep. He paused before the front door, placing a hand to his head, and slowly shaking it. It wasn't a good time to go outside. Pushing himself off the wood surface, and nearly running into the phone table, he stumbled before stopping himself. James rubbed at his temples. Perhaps a cup of tea would be beneficial, he decided.

The tea swirled about in the cup as James toyed with it. While the honey he had added to it had settled his stomach, he didn't much feel like drinking it. His clouded reflection stared back at him. He'd thought about Roger only in passing, mostly with disdain for dropping him, as he did.

He had thought that the nightmares of that low point in his life had been receding. They were bad when he was living on his own, but they had moved to vagueness since he had begun to live with Edward. He supposed that his boredom, along with his brush with death, had to have triggered them. Nevertheless, it had still been jarring.

"James?"

He glanced up to see Edward, who was leaning one hand against the doorframe. Clad in his dressing gown, he ran his free hand through his tussled gray hair. His eyes were bloodshot.

Standing quickly, James swayed on his feet from tiredness, and caught himself on the table, the teacup rattling. "I'm fine," he replied his speech slurring, "Go back to bed, Edward. I'll be up later."

Catching a yawn in his hand, Edward replied, "I find that hard to believe."

"Fine," James muttered, "If it'll stop the interrogation, I can't sleep."

"Is there anything in particular that is keeping you up?"

"Nightmares," he responded quietly, "Foolish, the lot of them." He tapped his fingers against the table's surface absent-mindedly.

Edward shook his head. "They don't appear foolish to me, if they're causing you to wake up like this."

"Can we drop it?" James inquired sharply.

Edward gave a nod. "We can, but this isn't the first time I've felt you wake up next to me." James looked away, and he continued, "I only say this because I worry about you, sweetheart."

James sighed. "Fine, if it'll stop the questions." Leaning on the table, he explained, "You remember my living conditions before I moved in. On the mainland, when I got caught, I lost several things." His tone became hard. "My landlord gave me an hour to move my things out and threatened to call the police. The food I had in my flat was gone, and most of my things had been destroyed. I didn't know what to do. I knew that where I was going to be living, it wasn't going to be nice."

Edward's expression darkened at that, but he didn't stop James as the other man surmised, "I remember sitting on a bench. Night had fallen, and I had one foot on my trunk. In retrospect, I'm shocked that I wasn't mugged. I put my head in my hands and cried. I didn't know what I was going to do with myself." He stopped abruptly, shutting his eyes.

Edward started forward at that, only to stop when James surmised, "I've had nightmares about that, being trapped in no man's land, as it were. I wasn't even sure if I was going to be picked up off the street and taken away. I felt so alone."

"Oh, James, I'm so sorry," Edward said sympathetically, a coldness drifting over him. He remained frozen, however, as James gathered himself.

"I hate it," he growled, anger taking over, "I hate that I have to suffer this memory of it. I shouldn't."

"You're not going to fix it," he replied gently, "That isn't how life works. You can only accept what you are given and move on."

"No, I won't accept it!" James exclaimed, bringing his fist down upon the table.

Edward ran a hand over his eye with a heavy sigh. "Please, don't shout. It's three o'clock in the morning."

James scowled at him but lowered his voice anyway. "I don't just 'accept' things. I'm not like you."

"Oh, thank you," Edward replied evenly, sarcasm in his tone.

James, however, didn't relent. "I don't because I am better than that!" He grabbed a fistful of his own hair and yanked roughly at it in frustration. "I was a grown man, cowering like a simpering child! This should never have happened to me, and I hate that I must deal with it, all of it! It wasn't just the nightmares, it was the fear that I wouldn't be able to keep the lights on, or that I'd end up with electric voltage frying my hands in some loony bin!" He put his face in his hands and sobbed.

Edward started forward, grasped James by the shoulders, and tugged him in close. Burying his head in Edward's shoulder, James continued to cry. "Shh," Edward comforted, gently stroking his black hair, "You're here, you're safe with me." Tears formed in Edward's eyes, and he closed them against them. His grip on James was tight, and decisively against anyone who could attempt to rip him away. A part of him was upset with James for bringing this up in the middle of the night, but he immediately pushed that away. Taking a breath to steady himself, Edward said, "James, you need to stop this."

James pushed roughly against him, but Edward held him fast. "No, I didn't mean that," he replied gently, "What I mean is that you must stop blaming yourself, James."

"What?!" He exclaimed, his voice cracking, "Weren't you listening to me at all?"

"I was. You don't think any of this should have happened to you because you were too good for it. You think that if you were truly the great man that you think you are, none of this would have happened. Am I about right?"

A tear rolling down his cheek, James mumbled, "Damn it, Edward."

Pulling out, he held James before him. The younger man wiped at his tears, not wanting to even think of how disgusting he must look. Edward stroked the side of James's cheek, which was still streaked with tears. "I'm not going to lie to you. Some of what you have suffered, you have brought on yourself, at least when it comes to embarrassments on Sodor," he began, "But as for everything else, you need to understand this: it was not your fault, and that does not make you less of a man."

James quietly stared at him, catching his breath, and Edward went on, "Horrible things happen to good people every day. Others seem so lucky or powerful that nothing harms them. None of what you were forced to endure makes you any less in my eyes."

James questioned, "But don't you think that things should have been different? I deserve more than this, for one."

"We can't control that," Edward admonished, "We can only work with what we are given. You have a job that you're good at, a stable income, friends, and me. If that isn't enough for you, then you'll need to gain some perspective, which I can only help so much with."

James stubbornly shook his head. "You can't talk! You don't know what it's like to lose everything!"

"To be fair, James, neither do you," he replied. James's breath caught in outrage, and Edward explained, "Your engine was purchased." Letting go of him, he walked to the table, and pulled out the opposite chair. Groaning, he lowered himself to sit down upon it, his joints protesting the movement. James's gaze followed him, but he didn't move. "The lowest dresser drawer upstairs has a false bottom. In it, you will find a lock of brown hair, a photograph, and a note."

"Your first partner," James commented quietly.

Edward nodded, and James thought that he appeared much older then as he fiddled with his hands on the table absent-mindedly. "Christopher walked out on me with that note. In a nutshell, he didn't leave any contact information, and didn't wish for me to follow him. We'd argued, more than once, over his wanting me to leave Sodor with him, though it wasn't to the extent that I had thought. I returned from work one day to find his possessions and him gone, with that note lying next to the phone."

James swallowed. Roger had at least given him a "by your leave," and it angered him that Edward wasn't afforded the same courtesy. Edward shrugged. "In retrospect, I should have seen it. He was passionate about a subject to the point of capriciousness."

"Sounds like me," James's voice began to rise, but he let it go. Edward had a type, there wasn't anything wrong with that. He was envious that this first man had known Edward before him, in more ways than one, but decided that it wasn't worth his time. Christopher was long gone, nothing more than a collection of items in a drawer. While it annoyed him that Edward had never brought it up to him, he knew that his partner wasn't a man to lie – it was sentimentality.

Edward smiled, and the age fell away from him, in that moment. His Edward was with him again. "While you are correct that I can't talk, I do know what it's like to lose someone precious. You can consider the source."

James looked away from him, putting a hand to his head. "I just want to sleep." Edward swallowed back frustration at his partner's changing the subject, but he had understood quite a long time ago that he wouldn't get through to James right away. Looking back at him, he dropped his hand. "I'm sorry for the trouble. You're tired, too." He gave a short laugh. "We just want to sleep, and we end up pouring out our hearts like a couple of fools." His expression softened, and he said, "Thanks, though."

Feeling more optimistic, Edward grasped the hand James reached out to him, and rose. "Anytime, dear." After dumping the teacup out, James carefully led Edward up the stairs, the two of them stumbling. James fell upon the bed before tugging Edward, who was in the middle of removing his dressing gown, down. "James, honestly," he commented, half-heartedly swiping at the younger man's hands. James smiled, and placed a fond kiss on the side of his head. Edward gave an acquiescent sigh and didn't bother any further.

The next morning felt to James as if the happenings of the previous night had been a dream, until he looked over and saw Edward, his dressing gown half on, curled up on his side. As James sat up, Edward cracked a blue eye open. "Hi, there," James greeted, shifting about to crack his back and arms.

"Hello," he returned in a soft voice, "We made it through the night."

James nodded, and drew Edward's head into his lap. Edward slowly shut his eye as James brushed his hand over his hair. "I do need to get up, you know," Edward mumbled.

"That's nice, dear," James replied sarcastically, not pausing in his strokes. Edward relaxed against his hand and closed his eyes.

XXXXXX

"Tomorrow's the last day of training for me," Nia commented wistfully as she stared out at the setting sun.

"You sound bothered by it," Donald commented, taking a sip from his cup of tea.

Wind whispered through the hills around them, rustling the bluebells near the café that they sat in front of. A whistle sounded as Stephen "Stepney" Crowley drove off in the distance, Rusty close behind him.

Nia frowned, picking up her compact to glance into it. Slowly, she adjusted her orange floral veiled hat on her head. "It's more that I have a mixed opinion on the situation. I'll be on my own completely, so if I make a mistake, it won't be Edward's fault. I just hope that I am treated fairly." Pocketing her compact, she helped herself to her second biscuit.

"Dougie and I are still here, aren't we?" Donald pointed out, "The Scots aren't necessarily liked, as well."

Nia bit off the top half of her biscuit. "That is true, but you can understand my lack of certainty in this."

Donald nodded. "I know." He glanced away to watch a bird, a worm in its mouth, descend to land in a nest. "It's strange, isn't it, who this island attracts," he muttered.

"You mean runaways, refugees, and people of broken homes?" Nia inquired, point blank, "Yes, I noticed that pattern, too. Everyone who's not from here is attracted to this dream place, maybe for things to be made better, or, at least, to seem better?" She recalled how on the fifth night of her new residence someone had slipped a less than flattering sketch of her through her mail slot. There also was her broken flowerpot. Nia had known that she was in Britain with her father too long to call herself fully Kenyan, now, but, similarly, she would never be considered fully British. Sudrian was now an entirely different matter.

Donald gave a shrug. "I suppose so. Sodor's a quiet place – not much happens here, so the tourists say." He'd burned a few pamphlets advocating for the island's isolation and knew that he was being facetious by intention.

"I'll miss having Edward with me, though. He's a good teacher," Nia said with a smile, "He's kind, and takes his time with me. He's also not too hard on me for mistakes."

"Aye, he's a good man for that," Donald agreed, though his tone was short, "Think you've gained an opinion of him?"

Nia smiled knowingly, as this was the crux of the matter. "He's a bit passive, I think," she commented, folding her arms, "That's all well and good for here, I suppose, but he seems to be not willing to affect change. He's nice – the others are, really, but I'm not sure if I could go further than polite conversation with him."

"You'll brook no argument with me there, lass," Donald agreed.

Donald felt frustrated with Edward, given how he was more likely to take things lying down. He wondered what would've become of Edward back in Scotland and doubted that the man would've had the gumption to smuggle someone out like he did.

At least, that was made clear to him after Thomas and James had disappeared to the mainland, with Thomas stealing James's goods train, and James going to look for him. "And just what are we doing here, then, sitting and waiting for them to come back?" Donald demanded.

Edward shut his locker door with a decisive bang and turned on his heel to look at Donald. "That's quite enough out of you."

"Ye think that?" Donald challenged, drumming his fingers on his locker shelf.

"I know that you're agitated that Thomas and James are missing, we all are. But if you think that going after them will accomplish anything, you're wrong. If more of us set off to search for them, the railway will be driven to a standstill."

"And then what? Pray tell what'll we do when we find out they've been robbed, or jacked?" Donald demanded, "Good to see that our work is more important than their safety."

Edward's gaze was icy. "You're insinuating things about me that aren't true, Donald. I suggest you stop," he replied quietly, "Neither got clearance to leave Tidmouth Sheds by the Fat Controller. Need I remind you what could happen, if you left, as well?"

"I could be sacked," Donald growled.

"Exactly," Edward replied, "Consider that before you run off, half-cocked." He left the locker room at that.

Regardless, Donald spared Edward a glare when James and Thomas arrived back home, both, but especially in James's case, the worse for wear. Edward stared back evenly at him for a moment before turning back to talk to James.

It didn't matter, or rather, it shouldn't. James had been involved with Edward before even Donald and his brother had arrived, but the attraction still was there. James was mercurial and alive in his mannerisms, with his honesty in his report about the brake van protecting Douglas impressing Donald.

And of course, James was easy on the eyes, though that was a common trait. Donald had been involved with his own share of men and women in the past and looks only went so far. Still, beyond James's looks was his determination, a desire to prove himself beyond anything, and Donald understood that, as well. Perhaps it was why he was the one selected at first to go to Sodor from Scotland, but who was to say.

Whether James was aware of this or not, it was a moot point. Edward was the man that he had eyes for, as opposed to Donald, and that was not going to change. However, what Donald had disdain for was Edward's view of him. Edward was a passive man, though whether it was due to his old age, or something more, it bothered him that he did little for the other workers, being more content to sit on his hands. And that let led to a few arguments between them about Donald being an upstart. He had marked off his calendar for next week's meeting with the union of miners involved with the Sodor China Clay Works. Edward never said a word against them about their conduct, but Donald had overheard Edward and BoCo referring to the union as a nuisance for the NWR.

Nia broke into his thoughts. "And your feelings for James complicate things."

Donald nodded. "Aye." Nia's being an outsider allowed him to confide a few things in her without fear of repercussion, and he appreciated that.

She glanced away from him. "You know, I just don't understand how Thomas can see Edward in a fatherly light. He's a co-worker, and that is it. Family is a different matter. Perhaps it is different for me." Nia looked down at her hands. "I'll need to face the truth of the matter soon, that—" She broke off, taking a few breaths to steady herself. She didn't want to cry in public about this, as it would be unbecoming. She didn't want to think of the returned letters, of her mother tearfully hugging her father on that fateful day, and her brothers and sisters clinging to her, begging her not to go.

"Nia," Donald's reply to her was gentle, and she glanced up at him. He shook his head. "I'm not going to lie to ye to make ye feel better, but ye have time to come to terms with this. If ye aren't ready, forcing yerself won't make it any easier."

Nia swallowed and then said, "I've thought more about what I asked before, you know, about why I was allowed to live."

"If ye don't want to talk about it now—"

Nia cut him off with a wave of the hand. "This I do. My father had his reasons for choosing me, and spending my time wallowing in them is unfair to him, and to me." She lowered her hand to pick up a biscuit and examine it, turning it over. "But when do I start to truly live again, that's what I wonder. I've been chasing shadows of my past for so many years that it's hard for me to see the sun, even on days like today."

"I can't decide that for ye, Nia, but I'll be here if ye need me."

Nia smiled at that. "And I'll continue to keep your secret." Picking up her tea, she blew on it. "It's the least I can do, anyway."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hercules is a reference to the show Tugs. Skarloey and Dean's relationship, as well as Donald's feelings for James and leaning towards workers' rights, are based on a roleplay with Sabbat Spiral. Sorry this one took a while - had NaNoWriMo.


	7. Chapter 7

The bridge leading from Sodor to the mainland creaked in the wind as Diesel's motorcycle screamed over it. Wind whipped through his graying black hair, and his green eyes were narrowed behind his goggles. He had a late shift tomorrow and free time tonight. Paxton knew where he was headed, in the case of something going wrong. After Stepney's engine had nearly been forcibly scrapped, Diesel had been concerned. Sodor was the remaining territory that he had for his engine, and if the NWR was overtaken by the mainland, he would have nowhere else to turn, at that point.

"Derek, what's wrong with you?" His wife, Evangeline, had asked, her hands shaking in fear of his erratic behavior. The war had changed him, and not for the better. A mine had exploded near his right side and showered him with pieces of two of his comrades. Diesel, while his bandages were being removed from his face after the ordeal, had felt as if something had reached inside of him, seized the man who'd reassured Evangeline that he would return alive, and taken him forever. After coming back from the war, he'd broken a few things and swung his fist at her as frustration over lack of employment prospects caused him to lash out. Evangeline left him after he'd shoved her against the dresser.

The move to the GWR had been better for him, financially, given that the steam engines were on their way out there. He had felt contempt for those who drove steam engines, in that they were being phased out, but still clung to their work. It was pathetic to him, especially men like Duck. If he had heard one more time about the glory of the GWR steam engines, he would have had to put his fist through the nearest wall.

It didn't matter – Duck was gone, and that left him with the pretty boy, Oliver. Oliver had had a haunting beauty to him, with his deep set eyes, and lithe frame, and he was his. Oliver had fallen into the bottle, which had made him easy to manipulate, and bed.

Duck was a schoolboy – he didn't know how to properly love or take care of Oliver. He was strung on rules to the point that he had left Oliver behind, and didn't much care for what would happen to him, on the Great Western Railway. Then again, he was a fool.

It was inevitable that Diesel would see Oliver in the locker room. He'd already had a sour reputation among his fellow workers, given the lies that he had spread about each of them. Duck had deserved to be ostracized, considering how much of a pain in the ass he had been. The same went for those three fairies, James especially. With how easy he was to set off, he would eventually lose his job, one of these days. Time would only tell with that one, and he'd have to deal with being old Eddie's nurse.

Oliver swallowed at the sight of him, a nervous expression on his face. Diesel smiled innocuously and started toward him. Oliver had filled out a bit compared to when he had seen him last, but that wasn't much of a matter. He still had those haunting dark eyes. He supposed he could make an allowance for Oliver running away, but it would be as if they had never left off.

That was when Duck had stepped between them, and fixed Diesel with a cold stare. Duck physically bumped Oliver backward with his shoulder, and away from Diesel. It only lasted for a few moments, but the message was clear enough. He wondered how it was for Oliver now, being in the arms of a pedant. He was surprised that Duck hadn't given up on Oliver, given how the man was prone to the drink.

It didn't matter to him. Oliver and Duck could go to Hell.

Diesel parked the motorcycle in an area housing an unfinished building near the mainland docks. A few trips had given him enough information to go on. While he would rather have seen Stepney's engine scrapped, it was still the mainland workers who had tried to do it, and that he could not abide.

He moved quickly down the streets, his club stowed close to his leg in his trench coat. The pub nearby was shutting down for the night, and he stood at a corner across the street from it. He tapped his fingers against his side in boredom.

At last, the door opened, and two tall, muscular men wearing steel workers' gear were discharged from it. Following at a distance after them, Diesel slowly slipped his hand into his pocket, and reached for his club.

One of them nudged the other, who was muttering something. Both were clearly tipsy. "Good one, Bert," he said with a laugh.

Diesel waited for his opportunity, the walls of the alley narrowing around him. Bert and his twin brother, 'Arry, turned the corner into a larger side street, comprised of the backs of closed-down stores. Diesel quickened his pace to a run, the club held out.

The two turned. "What—"

Bert was cut off as Diesel slammed the club into his torso with sheer force, knocking Bert backward. Swinging quickly again, Diesel smashed Bert's right hand, causing the driver to cry out in pain. Diesel smirked, knowing that he likely wouldn't drive again.

"Why, you!"

Diesel quickly swung out of the way as 'Arry's fist swung through the air.

"'Arry!"

Diesel's club sung through the air, colliding with the side of 'Arry's face with a harsh crack. 'Arry stumbled backward, clutching at his face, which was covered with blood. He laughed at 'Arry, and darted forward, only to feel a massive weight knock him to the ground.

Diesel sucked in a breath and coughed at dirt and dust as a boot slammed into his side. He managed to steal a glance up, and see Bert stomping him into the ground. Diesel groaned in pain as his old war wounds were aggravated. He feebly held up his hands to stave off the blows. He cried out as Bert's foot slammed down on his fingers, smashing them into the ground. "That's for hurting my brother, shithead!" Bert kicked him, and Diesel rolled over, exhausted. Lurching along the ground, he propped himself up on an arm to cough up blood.

Something sung through the air and struck Diesel's back. With a groan, he felt along the ground behind him, only for his hand to brush up against his club.

"Can you walk?"

He managed to roll over, and see Bert helping up an injured 'Arry. Bert turned slowly and spat in Diesel's direction before heading off with his brother into the darkness.

Diesel moaned, groaned, and attempted to stand, only to fall back on the ground. The second attempt produced the same result, while after the third, he toddled to his feet, the club dragging in one hand behind him on the ground. He didn't bother thinking of going after Bert and Arry – he needed help.

He managed to crawl to a phone box, his hands shaking as he pulled coins from his pocket. The club dropped from his hand to the floor as the phone rang, the receiver wobbling in his hand.

"Yes?" Asked a tired voice on the opposite end of the line.

"Pax," he groaned, leaning heavily against the phone box's wall, "I need help."

"Diesel, where are you?" Paxton asked, his tiredness falling away to be replaced by concerned.

"Just on the mainland near the docks," he groaned in pain, "Can you do me a favor, and take me back? I can't be spotted in a hospital here."

After a pause, Paxton asked, his voice suspicious, "So, how bad is it?"

"I coughed out blood, if you want an example," Diesel replied matter-of-factly. At Paxton's groan, he asked, "Are you coming, or not?"

"…Diesel, since when did my living with you mean that I had to continuously drag you home from your own mistakes?" Paxton asked in an annoyed tone of voice.

"Oh, piss off, Paxton," Diesel growled, "I'll just take myself home."

With an exasperated sigh, Paxton acquiesced. "I'll be there. What's the address?"

Diesel smiled at that and gave him the address before hanging up. Diesel fell backward, the receiver slipping out of his hand. The dial tone droned as he sat on the floor of the phone box to gather his strength. He dragged his hand along the floor to retrieve the club.

Rising and replacing the receiver, he left to head back to the disused area where his bike was chained. He leaned against the bike, hissing in pain and holding his side.

After an indeterminate amount of time, a pair of headlights shone over his boots. Diesel looked up to see Paxton behind the wheel of his battered and oil-stained Mini. Rolling down the passenger side window, Paxton called out, "Get in!"

Diesel loaded his motorbike into the boot, and slid into the car, the two of them driving back to Sodor. Paxton didn't bother asking him a question, and kept his eyes on the road, worried about whether they would be caught.

They arrived at the flat without discovery. Paxton unloaded the motorbike, while Diesel went inside. Diesel leaned over the kitchen sink and groaned at the pain. Hocking, he spat into the sink, his saliva pink from blood. He groaned, and hung over the rim, not sure whether he was going to be sick.

The next moment, he clasped a hand over his mouth, and began to retch before at last vomiting into the sink. The club slipped out of his coat, and banged on the floor.

Paxton's footsteps sounded, and he glanced up to see the dark-haired man offering him a towel to clean himself off with. "Soon as you've cleaned yourself up, come on to the hospital."

Diesel snatched the towel from him and felt embarrassed about the entire thing. Paxton, put off by his behavior, glared at him, and knelt to pick up the discarded club. Holding out the bloodied club, he accused, "If you're wondering why so few people want to be around you, Diesel, perhaps this is a hint!"

Diesel scowled at him. "At least I did something! The mainland will encroach on us until we're consumed by it."

Paxton threw the club on the floor in frustration. "But what you're doing here? This is not helping! You beat two men, which could have consequences for the railway. You're lucky that you weren't identified!"

"But nothing happened," Diesel replied, turning to look away from him.

"To your knowledge!" Paxton yelled. Diesel kept his head turned away from him.

"Oh, give it a rest, will ya?" Diesel growled.

Paxton shook his head. "Do it again, and I will report you!"

"I'd like to actually see you do it, Paxton," Diesel challenged.

Paxton, however, lost his nerve, and left the room. Diesel smirked despite the pain. Never have a fight with a roommate.

XXXXXX

"She looks good, Victor," James commended as he walked about his engine, smiling at its sheen of red paint. Junior walked alongside him, an eager smile on his face.

Victor wiped his hands on a rag. Grease stains were on his cheeks, and his long black ponytail had strands coming loose. "Did the best we could with her. Though I will warn you, James, she can't take hits like that again."

"Got it," James replied, climbing on board.

Something crashed to the floor, causing Victor to turn his head, and call out in annoyance, "Kevin!"

"Sorry, boss!" The crane operator quickly scrambled to upright his machine, his greasy blonde hair sticking up everywhere.

Victor sighed and turned back to James. "Take her out for a practice run to Tidmouth Sheds. Any problems, and you bring her back."

"Got it," James acknowledged. Junior gave him the thumbs up, and James fired up the engine, peeling out of the Steamworks with a jubilant cry.

James laughed giddily as trees and fields sped by him. He whistled at Charlie and Hiro as they passed by, the two responding in kind. "Good to see you out and about again, James!" Hiro called over his radio.

Junior chuckled, and James coasted down the rails. Slowing down, he pulled up to the turn table. Edward half-waved from where his engine sat in the shed. He was standing near the buffers, and speaking with Oliver about something, with troubled looks on their faces. Oliver's engine stood in the shed, as did Duck's, Henry's, and Gordon's.

As his engine was slowly spun around, James commented, "It's good to be back."

Junior nodded. "And, James?"

"Yeah?" Carefully operating his engine, James backed it up to slide into its berth in the shed.

"Thanks for putting me first, when Dean attacked us," Junior commented.

James smiled. "Of course, it was my fault, anyway."

"You would say that about yourself?" Junior asked, "It must be a rare occasion."

James chuckled, and climbed down from the footplate. "Yeah, well, I suppose I can change."

"Keep it up, then," Junior replied, "Hopefully you'll come to respect me."

James frowned in concern. "Of course, I do. You're my fireman."

Junior shrugged. "Maybe you could show it a bit more?"

James smiled at that. "I can arrange that."

As they left the berth, Edward called them over. "What's the matter?" James asked.

"There's an argument going on," Edward explained.

"What's happened now?" James asked, looking between him and Oliver.

Oliver cleared his throat in embarrassment. He was pale, and appeared deflated as he explained, "Diesel wasn't happy about Dean Tenpenny quitting, and said that we shouldn't have meddled in the affair. It's also partially to do with me, though. He was running a connection for his goods train, and I took too long to get it to him – I was having trouble with the trucks' couplings."

"Weren't you supposed to be on different shifts?" James inquired.

"It's not realistic, to have them always on different shifts, although," Edward replied as he glanced over at Oliver, whose folded hands were shaking, "It would be preferred if they were."

For a moment, James felt angry at Edward for his light tone of voice. He wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. It was no different than what had happened with Lady and Dean Tenpenny, but here he was, acquiescing as usual. Instead, however, he turned to look at his fireman. "You'd best be off for the time being," James said to Junior, "I'll catch up with you later."

Junior nodded. "Right, then. I'll contact the Steamworks, and let Victor know that the test run went well." He jogged off past the other berths, happy at being given an out.

"Do you want to stay here?" Edward asked Oliver.

Oliver shook his head. "If I started the issue, I'd best come and help end it." As they left the berth where Edward's engine sat in, however, Oliver chose to walk behind the two.

Beyond the sheds, Duck, Henry, and Gordon were gathered in a semicircle before Diesel and Paxton. Diesel had his hand wrapped, and every so often held his side, gritting his teeth against pain. Henry had a hand out, blocking a fuming Duck from moving toward Diesel. Gordon was standing slightly ahead of Henry and Duck, and appeared to be the main individual arguing with Diesel.

"Would you mind telling the class how you've damaged your hand?" Gordon asked pointedly.

Diesel lowered his hand. "Mechanical error. Oh great, here comes the rest of you," he muttered at James's appearance, "And here I thought I'd see the last of your nuisance."

Duck visibly relaxed at the sight of Oliver, and went over to stand beside him, talking in low tones with him.

James narrowed his eyes at him. "It wasn't my choice, Diesel."

Henry started forward. "I'm going to take over – Gordon looks like he's at his wits' end."

Gordon nodded, and backed up, a look of relief on his face.

Diesel scowled. "You all seem to think that you're on this fantasy island, lost in time, a preserve for all engines, obsolete, ancient, and otherwise," Diesel's fist clenched, and Henry's eyes narrowed, "That arrogance you each have is utterly repulsive. You think that modernization won't come to Sodor? Are you that foolish?" His expression darkening, he continued, "The difference between our engine classes is those of us who handle diesels know that our time is limited. Each of our models will be replaced. It's already happened." Paxton nodded at that. "But each of you have this perception that simply because your engines are 'classic,' or 'beautiful,' that they're somehow going to endure the test of time." Centering his gaze on Duck, who frowned in disdain, he surmised, "Children, all of you. You stoop to crime to keep your jobs," he swung his gaze to take in Oliver, "or pretend that there's something unique about you, that you're handling the last token relic of its class." He centered his gaze on Edward. "The reality of it is that nothing lasts forever, but I am wasting my time in telling you that."

"If we're already drowning, then we certainly don't need you to hold our heads under," Henry stated shortly.

Taking in the sight of the steam drivers glaring at him, Diesel replied, "Then you'd best learn how to swim." Gesturing for Paxton to follow, he left.

Henry snorted, folding his arms, and glancing back at the assembled drivers. "He really thought he could make that argument with me? After the amount of times my engine has had to be repaired?"

"I think you were blocking an easier target," Gordon commented.

Henry waved a hand. "Doesn't matter, let's get back to work."

As the group dispersed, James overheard Duck quietly ask Oliver, "Did he touch you?" He turned his head at that to see Oliver visibly balk, and then practically shrink.

"No," Oliver uttered quietly, drawing closer to Duck as they rounded the sheds.

James and Henry glanced at Edward, who said, "Leave it alone."

"Even if there was evidence of that sort of thing," Gordon commented bitterly, "Do you honestly think that the Fat Controller would do anything about it?" Knowing very well at all four present had been lectured by their boss as to their off-duty relationships, he continued, "Leave it to the Little Western line to sort out. We can't afford a scandal right now. Am I correct in saying that, Edward?"

Edward, feeling three pairs of eyes on him, hesitated before giving an answer. He felt as if he had gone back to the time when Gordon, Henry, and James had gone on strike, and he was the main blackleg until Percy was hired. Carefully, he replied, "While I would be lying if I said that I hate to see Diesel leave, unless he has made an impermissible offense in the eyes of the law, we are stuck with him." Clearing his throat, he continued, "For all intents and purposes, men like us are on our own, here."

"An acceptable answer," Gordon replied, passing by them with Henry in tow.

Edward turned back to look at James. "I meant to congratulate you on your engine returning to the line."

James shook his head. "The moment's passed."

XXXXXX

"Thanks for coming on short notice," Percy commented as Annie took off her coat.

"Think nothing of it. Thomas is my crewmate, after all," she replied warmly, "I'm sorry that Clarabel couldn't make it – she was in the middle of her volunteer work with the local children."

Percy waved a hand as he led her inside. "Don't worry about it."

Annie stopped at a jar labeled "Percy's Lamp," and deposited a few coins. Percy smiled gratefully at her and gestured up the stairs. "He's in his room. Do you want something? Tea, perhaps?"

"Yes, thank you," Annie replied gratefully, starting up the stairs, and calling, "Thomas?"

A tired "yes" answered her.

Following his voice, she came to the top of the stairs to see him lying on his bed, his hands behind his head, and staring moodily at the ceiling. "Percy put you up to this?" He asked.

"Does it matter?" Annie asked, "I'm here to help you."

"I don't need help," Thomas growled defensively, "It's just the facts."

Annie sat down on the edge of his bed. "Look, Thomas, I know that this was shocking to you, but you don't need to let this define you." Thomas raised his head, and was about to retort when she said, "Clarabel and I have been with you for nearly all of your career, Thomas, so I would request for you to give me the same amount of respect that I afford you."

Footsteps approached, and a tray rattled. Percy set down the tea tray on Thomas's nightstand. As Annie tapped sugar into the tea, Thomas glared at Percy. He was annoyed with him for telling Annie about this, and for trying to drum up assistance for him. He didn't need help – he was going to see this woman who claimed to be his mother and tell her off. And from there…Thomas wasn't sure. He was still disturbed by what he was, and it was driving him half out of his mind. What if he cheated on Molly like that? What if he lied to Percy? What if he lost his job due to lies?

Annie broke into his thoughts. "Thomas, that's enough stewing." At Thomas's scowl, she continued, "You know how I got here?"

"Sure, you were a nurse and—"

"But what was the other reason?"

Thomas paused, clueless.

Blowing on her tea, Annie slowly looked between him and Percy. "You both know I'm divorced, but the reason for it is due to my having a miscarriage."

Thomas and Percy both gave her looks of sympathy, and Annie continued, "My husband walked out on me, and blamed me for what happened. Moving to Sodor was my way of starting over. I know it isn't the same, Thomas, but my point is that your past does not define you."

"What about closure?" Thomas asked.

"Do you think that's what you want, Thomas?" Percy asked, "Or is it something else? You don't even know this lady. What will seeing her accomplish? The way you talk about it, it's as if you want to take revenge on her."

"If that's the case, Thomas, then you're better than that," Annie said, "You forget so easily who you really are. You liberated Marco Skiff from Sailor John Lewis, for one, and for another, you tried to save James when his engine wrecked. Does that sound like a liar and a cheat?"

Thomas sighed. "No…"

Percy, losing his patience, said, "Would you quit being a git, and let the woman go? She has no bearing on your life."

"Who're you calling a git?" Thomas exclaimed, standing bolt upright and nearly causing Annie to drop her tea. She gasped as he threw a punch, only for Percy to easily sidestep it, and put his hand on Thomas's shoulder.

"It's stupid, isn't it?" He asked.

Thomas coughed, and then replied, "Yeah, I suppose so."

Annie shook her head and took a sip of her tea. "I think that's enough for today, boys."

A week later, water lapped against the shore as Thomas and Molly, their shoes in hand, walked along it.

"So, that's my parentage, my real parentage," Thomas explained, rubbing the back of his neck, "What scares me about it is whether I'll turn out the same way as them."

Molly laid a hand on his arm, stopping him. "Thomas, look at me." He slowly turned his head to see her concerned expression. "Why have you let this bother you so? You don't act like either of those people. You're a flawed person like the rest of us here, but you'd never do something so cruel."

Thomas sighed. "Now I wouldn't, but—"

"But nothing," Molly replied firmly, "You can choose whether you will be that person, and you have. How does this make things any different?"

Thomas knew that she was simplifying matters for him, but nonetheless relaxed, and allowed her to coddle him for a little while. "Thank you," he smiled, "You know, I've been meaning to ask you, I was thinking of, once I've saved more money, settling down together."

"You sure, though?" Molly teased, "Not everyone would want to get involved with a Catholic girl."

Thomas chuckled. "If that's the most of our problems, then that's fine." He held out his hand to Molly, who took it with a smile. He led her down the beach, their shadows stretching along behind them.

XXXXXX

Rain drummed on the pavilion's roof, the trees in the field beyond groaning with the water and wind.

"If there's one thing I can say about my mum, it's that she isn't subtle," James commented as he stared out at the rain, his boot propped up against the seat of a nearby bench. Edward chose to say nothing from where he sat near him, his hands folded in his lap.

James moodily flipped his arm over to check his wristwatch. She was five minutes late, already. "Calm yourself, James," Edward gently admonished, "She isn't a driver – she can afford to be a tad late."

James retained his suspicion. "You don't know her like I do."

"Perhaps, but if you wish for this to run its course quickly, I wouldn't recommend starting by fighting with her."

James flicked his wrist back to his side. "If she's late by fifteen minutes, we're leaving."

"If you wish."

James glanced about over his shoulder, and commented, "Oh, here she comes." A knot curled in his gut as he watched the approaching figure under an umbrella.

James dropped his leg and waited for her to approach. He gazed down at Edward once more. He'd felt a bit foolish for asking him to come with him, as it was partially out of wanting to lean on Edward for support. He could never speak to his father again, but his opinion about his ineffective mother was mixed.

She lowered her umbrella with a grunt of annoyance and allowed it to dangle at its strap by her side. "James?" Her voice was lower now and sounded more tired. There were more lines on her face, with her hair completely gray, and bearing white wisps.

Putting his hands in his pockets, he replied quietly, "Hi, Mum."

She glanced past him at Edward, confused to see him there. Edward waved a hand at James and rose to move further away. Leaning his arm against a wooden pole, he stared out at the rain. James noticed how stiffly he was standing, but let it go.

"Who is he?" She asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow. "You didn't tell me that you were bringing friends with you, James." James gave a slight smile and put his hands in his coat pockets. "What's so funny, James?" She demanded, "I asked you a question."

"You don't understand," he replied, internally pushing down upon his anticipation. If his mother reacted poorly, then that would be that. If not, he was unsure about how the conversation would go. "He's my partner."

His mother scowled at that, but her reply was not one that he expected from her. "That doesn't shock me. You were a sissy boy when you weren't fighting."

It wasn't James's first time hearing that derogatory term, but nevertheless, it stung to hear it from his mother's mouth. "Might explain my black sheep status, then," he commented drolly.

Mrs. Frost shrugged. "And here I hoped your father would beat it out of you. Never mind that, then. Let me look at you." She moved toward James, who took a step back from her. "Would you rather I had been dishonest with you?" She asked pointedly.

"I suppose not," James replied, and allowed her to touch him.

"Oh, look at your face," she commented, biting the side of her lip as she ran her fingers over the crow's feet on the sides of his eyes, "What have you done to yourself?"

Defensively, James swatted at her hand. "It's age, Mum. It happens to all of us."

"Even so, you need to take better care of yourself," she corrected, and James held in a snort at that. "Now, about that old gentleman?"

He nodded. "Do you want to meet him?"

She hesitated. "Is he taking care of you?"

He shook his head in annoyance. "Mum, I'm thirty-three years old. I've been taking care of myself. I don't need your input on it."

Mrs. Frost scowled at him. "You watch your tongue, boy. You can be however many years old you want. I will still blister your behind as needed."

James returned the scowl. "That's assault, mother. Do you want to meet him, or not?"

"Quite frankly, I should, if he's influencing you to act in such an impolite manner," she commented, "It seems you've found Daddy."

James could feel Edward's gaze on him. He knew that his partner was willing to step in, but he instead decided to toe the line. He gestured for her to follow him and walked toward the edge of the pavilion. Edward gave a polite half-bow as James introduced, "My partner, Edward Wells."

"A pleasure, Mrs. Frost," Edward commented cordially.

She was less than warm. "You're a train driver? You're a tad frail for the job."

Edward, however, replied with a chuckle, "Madam, you're not the first to say that."

"Perhaps, then, popular opinion should be listened to," she commented in return.

James bristled at that, but Edward replied, "You may have that opinion, if you wish, but you do not run a railway."

"I suppose not," she said, leaving the subject alone, "I'm surprised that a man like you is a nancy boy. You're too conventional in appearance for such a thing." She turned to look at James. "But I should have expected this sort of thing out of you."

"Thanks, Mum," James muttered in response.

"I understand where you get your judgments from, madam," Edward said, his tone becoming cold, "Have you come here only to insult your son, and me?"

"How I interact with my son is none of your business," Mrs. Frost said sharply, "He may play house with you, but you two are not, and will not be, family."

"So what's that make you and Dad?" James asked.

She spun on him, her hand poised in the air to strike him. "You insolent—"

She gasped in surprise as Edward caught her arm to grasp tightly. "Don't you dare," he warned tightly before shoving her arm back out of his grip.

Mrs. Frost stared at him in surprise. Edward met her gaze evenly. When he next opened his mouth, his tone of voice was firm. "You may consider me not to be family if you wish, but I will not let you harm him in my presence. You've already done enough damage to him."

She locked an accusatory gaze on James, who stared back coldly at her. Slowly her face fell, and she relaxed. "I assume you want to know the crux of the issue?"

James lifted a hand. "By all means."

She lowered her eyes. "I'm dying, son."

James's breath caught, and he glanced about in surprise, spitting out, "Come again?!"

Mrs. Frost glanced back up at him. "You can hear properly. It's breast cancer. There is only so much that can be done for me, now. Considering how your father has been eyeing another woman, I suppose I can only do what I can."

"Then why do you bother with him?" James muttered.

"I stayed with him for you!" She hissed, slapping her hands by her sides. "Are you that dense that you can't understand? You and your sisters ruined my life. He's what I've known for so many years."

"Mum, I didn't ruin anything," James said quietly.

"It doesn't matter. It's a waste regardless," she said bitterly, "You can do what you want, now. I just thought that you ought to know."

She moved to depart, but James stopped her. "Fancy tea with us, Mum? You may as well, as you've come a long way."

"Is this to be our only time together, James?" She asked suspiciously.

"I'll think about it," he replied shortly.

"Then I won't waste any more of it," she replied, grasping her umbrella.

"Why?" James asked her retreating back.

She turned back once more to look at him. "Because honestly, do you really want anything to do with me?" At James's silence, she replied, "I thought so." Opening her umbrella, she walked into the rain.

James glanced over at Edward, who slowly rose from the pole. "Forgive me for intruding, James, but I couldn't let her do that to you."

James felt annoyed with Edward for taking matters into his own hands but chose against saying anything. "Do you want that tea?" He asked instead.

Edward smiled. "Certainly. We'll watch the rain out the window, then."

Later that night, Edward composed a letter to Donald. He had been wrestling with himself as to whether he had wanted to draft it, considering how it would bring him closer to the truth of the matter that his time was limited.

He knew that he was going to have to retire within a few years. It had begun with a few anomalous readings on his health report, whenever he visited with the doctor. His muscle mass was reducing itself over time, but this was something else. He was weaker, and more lethargic, with his pulse and blood pressure beginning to show a marked difference.

"If you want my honest opinion, Mr. Wells, fifteen years," his doctor explained, "After that point, you will begin to see a steady decline."

Edward felt disappointment as well as fear wash over him in that examination room. It all felt too short to him. "Can anything be done?"

"A change in environment might give you more time, but otherwise, I'm afraid not," he replied gently.

Edward shook his head. "I can't afford it, and work would get in the way."

"Mr. Wells, you don't really think that you will be spending all of that time working, do you?" The doctor questioned, point blank.

Edward hesitated, and then replied, "No, but again, I can't afford it."

"At least consider it, Mr. Wells," his doctor commented, "For your own sake, if nothing else."

He wasn't ready to tell James yet, and, in some ways, not telling him allowed him to keep a sense of normalcy – it didn't seem to loom as much for him.

He had a few years to wait.

Edward sealed the envelope, and glanced over at James, who was curled up in bed. James's old teddy bear, bearing multiple stitches around the neck, watched solemnly from the nearby chair.

Edward admitted to himself that he was a jealous man. He also knew that he didn't have a choice when it came to his own mortality. Donald, for all he knew, may not be attracted to James any longer, as the years passed. If it came to that, then he could make another arrangement.

He didn't want to envision what could grow between Donald and James, and for all that he knew, Donald could simply read over the letter, and rightfully tell him to piss off. On the other hand, perhaps he would choose to sympathize with James, and take care of him. Edward hoped that it would be the latter, despite himself.

Still, Donald's opinions were dangerous, especially on this island. Unionization was frowned upon, as was immigration. While Edward didn't hold the latter against Donald, the former painted a target on his back. Edward had wanted to protect James from that, though whether it was more out of covetousness than pure love, he didn't want to think too long over.

Edward smiled sadly. James always came first, and that would not change.

XXXXXX

“I need you to be honest with me,” James instructed quietly, “If anything hurts, or feels wrong, tell me right away.”

Edward nodded from where he sat before him. James smiled, cupping his chin to kiss him before climbing onto his lap. Edward gave a soft groan as James shifted against him, feeling his genitals pressing against him through the thin fabric of his pants. James had done right by deciding to not wear underwear, Edward decided, though James’s self-satisfied smirk made him a little miffed.

James chuckled, and moved against him, rubbing up against his crotch. His hands grasped Edward’s to catch them. “Sorry,” he said with a wink, “No touching me this time.”

Edward blushed at that, and James chuckled. “Oh dear, you look like I’ve taken your porridge.”

“James,” Edward muttered, “forgive me when I say this, but kindly shut up!”

James lifted Edward’s hands playfully over his head and kissed over his nose and lips. At Edward’s fussy look, James wrapped a leg about his, drawing himself closer, and grinding against him. Edward moaned, and his hands twisted in James’s.

James tsked his tongue, with Edward sighing in annoyance at him stopping. “Now, now, this won’t do at all. I gave you simple instructions, and you’re not following them.” He let go of one of Edward’s hands to pull a scarf from his shirt pocket.

Edward raised an eyebrow at that, and James smiled, winding the scarf about Edward’s neck, and leaning forward. He kissed Edward deeply, dropping his hands. Edward, closing his eyes as James’s tongue ran over his neck, clutched at his back. He was having trouble trying not to paw at James, considering the other man’s comments, but feeling his lips and tongue trailing over him made it so hard.

James just smiled, undoing buttons, and licking over his skin.

Edward groaned, leaning his head back. James grasped his chin, and gently tilted his head forward. “Open your eyes, dear.”

Edward complied, his eyes slowly opening. They widened as he took in the sight of himself, exposed by James’s hands. He blushed. James just gave him a filthy look, and Edward’s blush deepened as he remembered the amount of times his wandering hands had slipped under the cloth of James’s shirt and pants.

Those hands grasped his. Edward let out a cry of surprise as James brought them together. James wound the scarf about Edward’s wrists, and pulled it secure. He smiled at the blush on Edward’s cheeks at that. “Well, well, well,” he chuckled, affectionately stroking Edward’s wrist, and grinding up against his erection, “You shouldn’t let down your guard, Edward.” Edward’s blush deepened, and James leaned forward to run his tongue across his cheek, pausing at the tip of his nose. Giving it a kiss, he teased, “Else, you get caught by me.”

Edward glanced down at that, and James smoothed his hand over the spot where he had licked. “Are you all right?” He asked, genuinely concerned, “Do you want me to untie your hands?”

Edward sighed, and gave a small smile. “No, I just am not used to this sort of intimacy. Forgive me, you didn’t have any issues with being gagged before.”

James smiled back. “Don’t compare yourself to me. This is about you, right now.”

Edward tentatively tugged at his bonds to test if they would hold. He felt helplessness from his hands being behind James’s head, and James’s weight settling on him. At his slight nod, James slowly unbuttoned Edward’s shirt, moving down toward his pants. Grasping Edward’s undershirt, he tugged it up to kiss and lick at his stomach. Edward bit down against a yelp and buried his teeth in James’s shoulder. James slowly unzipped Edward’s pants, leaving the top button undone as he reached forward to rub teasingly at his sex.

Edward grunted in frustration, his hands scrabbling at the back of James’s neck. “James, let me!”

James turned his head sideways to lick up his neck. “Why should I? I quite like you like this.”

“You devil,” Edward groaned, grasping the back of James’s head and leaning into him. Sweat ran down the sides of his face, and he knew that there was little he could do with his hands bound. James’s smirk was an indicator that the idea had been premeditated. How much heat could Edward take was a curiosity to him, and a little revenge for the ice.

His pants were completely unfastened by James, who reached in to pull out Edward’s cock. “You call me a devil,” he said with a chuckle, “Look how naughty you are, already leaking for me.” He ran his fingers over Edward’s sex, only to immediately stop when Edward groaned out a request for him to do so.

James paused, and brushed his fingers against Edward’s cheek. “Ed, look at me.” Edward tiredly raised his head to see a concerned expression on James’s face. “Is this too much?” He asked. Tell me when you need to stop.”

“Not yet,” he groaned, “Please, don’t stop, but go more slowly.”

“Too quick?” James asked. Edward nodded, and James readjusted, stroking gently at his cock. Edward groaned from it, his head thrown back.

“James, if you don’t cover my mouth, I might scream,” Edward mumbled.

James, alarmed at the sincerity in his tone, immediately placed the palm of his hand over Edward’s mouth, muffling his cry as he came on James’s lap. James kept his hand over him for a moment before releasing his mouth and lowering his head to the side of his shoulder. “Ed…” He cradled him in his arms, concerned as to his health.

“James,” he moaned, exhausted, “Please.”

James grasped his chin and brought it up for a soft kiss. “Are you all right? Do you need me to stop?”

Lowering his head, he replied, “Forgive me, but yes.”

“Hey,” James reached out, and brought up Edward’s face again, “I told you we could stop whenever you needed. It’s all right.” Edward glanced up at that, and James sighed, shaking his head at him. “This isn’t just about my pleasure.” James slowly kissed at the side of Edward’s eye before moving to his cheek and lips. Pausing before him, he leaned forward, nudging his forehead once before resting it against Edward’s. Reaching above himself, he fumbled for a few moments before untying his partner’s hands.

Running his freed hands over James’s sides, Edward smiled at the familiarity of his body’s curves and angles. He envied him his youth, and energy. James slowly rose from him, and held out his hand to him, his other hand tugging his pants up enough to allow himself to walk. Tiredly, Edward stumbled beside him until they fell on the bed. James pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it off the side of the bed. Edward’s clothing was plastered with sweat and clung to his body. 

They moved slowly against each other, their tongues lazily dancing. James, though a bit disappointed, nevertheless appreciated Edward’s fingers stroking along his thighs and teasing his member. “Edward, it’s all right,” he patted his hand gently, “You don’t have to continue.”

Edward sighed in contentment, feeling warm and protected against James. “Don’t go of me,” he whispered, and James smiled against his hair.

“Love, that was never my intention.”

XXXXXX

The trains hummed by on the platform as Gordon followed Scott, who was clad in full uniform and hat. He would miss his brother, but he would be against keeping the Flying Scotsman from roaming free and showing off its power to the world.

Scott's luggage had already been loaded, but Gordon still asked, "Have you need of anything?"

Scott chuckled, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "You need not worry about me, brother."

Gordon rolled his eyes. "I would appreciate if you would at least allow me to express care for you. There aren't many of we Lockwoods left."

"Margot! Margot, come back here!" A voice rang out across the platform. Glancing across the station at the opposite platform, Scott and Gordon saw Emily, towing a little boy holding a lollipop after her, chased a little girl, clad in a traveling jacket, down the platform. People cried out as the little girl swept past their legs, her hands outstretched.

Before Margot stood James, who paused in his steps, surprised at the scene. Looking around, his gaze seemed to fall on an object on the ground. Kneeling, he picked up the item, and presented it to Margot. The little girl skidded to a stop. She took it from his hands to hug to herself and brush her hand over it. Emily stopped, and with a nod of thanks to James, knelt before Margot to talk to her.

Scott smiled. "You care about each other here."

Gordon shrugged. "Some of us more so than others." James had informed him about how Emily had dropped out of college to help raise her niece and nephew.

Scott tugged on the bill of his hat. "I envy you the ability to have the same co-workers, as often as you do."

"Are you content with where you are?" Gordon inquired.

Scott smirked at him. "If I say otherwise, you'd want to fill my position immediately."

"Perhaps previously," Gordon replied, "but that has since changed."

"Because of Henry?" Scott asked.

Gordon waved a hand. "Even if I had taken a wife, it still would have been the same. Sodor does have its charm to it, but knowing you, you wouldn't want to stay long enough for it to affect you."

Scott smiled knowingly.

Gordon clasped Scott's hand and squeezed it tightly. "Be seeing you, brother."

"Take care of yourself," Scott implored before heading for his engine.

Gordon watched the Flying Scotsman depart and scoffed good-naturedly. "Here's to hoping you keep your engine together, brother." Checking his pocket watch, he quickly departed from the platform, hoping to get home before Henry in order for his surprise not to be spoiled.

As it turned out, he beat him by a quarter of an hour. Gordon was washing the dishes when he heard the front door open. Henry, exhausted, removed his hat to hang on the hook. "I've had about enough, I think," he commented, "Heavy goods train today."

Gordon smirked, keeping his back to Henry in order to hide his expression. "Perhaps you could follow my example, and take more initiative in insisting that you be used to transport passengers?"

Henry mumbled under his breath and decided against getting into that old argument. Originally, that had been a point of contention between them, with Gordon thinking that he was higher in the pecking order than Henry, but it eventually lowered into a flirtation between them.

A whisper of movement past the couch sounded.

Henry glanced about in surprise at the noise. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

Henry frowned in annoyance at Gordon's obtuse answer. "That rustling noise. Didn't you hear it?"

"I suppose so," Gordon commented as he took down the paper from the fridge. The tap was scheduled to be repaired the next day. "Why don't you have a look?"

Henry was annoyed at Gordon's lack of care and wondered if he was going to tease him for being scared. However, he let it go, given the other man's light tone of voice, and headed into the other room.

The rustling sounded again from behind a chair, and Henry knelt to pull it out, and investigate. There behind it was a full-grown black tom with a white bow on his neck, staring at him with wide amber eyes. Henry gasped in surprise, and knelt to the floor, his hands outstretched. "Oh, my!" He cried out giddily. The cat bounded away from him to hide behind a potted plant.

Gordon swept by him with a chuckle to pick up the cat, who gave a surprised meow. "Sorry, Henry, he isn't fully used to the house, yet."

Henry smiled as Gordon carried the cat over to him. "It's all right – I'd expect him to be skittish." He held out his hand to the cat, who sniffed him curiously. "Where did you get him?"

"The local shelter. I thought that he would be perfect, as he's independent, at this age." Gordon answered. The tom stared at Henry for a few moments, then allowed him to run his hand over his fur. "Considering how often we work, a kitten would be too much maintenance."

Henry thought of the discussions that they had had previously, with Gordon stating firmly that a cat would be too much work, as it would make a mess, or chew on things. "What made you change your mind?" Henry asked.

Gordon replied, "I fear that I don't show often how I care for you, Henry. I thought that a change was needed."

Henry knew what he was referring to. Gordon did tend to run cold when it came to physical affection for long periods. It was due in part to his adherence to chivalry, as well as his desire to keep his image in pristine condition. There was the other part, however, the emotional trauma, as well as some lingering self-loathing. Gordon did drop that hesitation at times, however, and on those occasions Henry promptly found himself slammed by his partner against the nearest wall, with Gordon grinding against him.

"I haven't named him yet," Gordon commented as Henry stroked the tom's fur gently, "I thought I would leave the honor to you."

Henry smiled up at him. "Thank you." Looking back down at the cat, he said, "I think Hocus would be a nice name."

Gordon chuckled. "I suppose you want me to get another cat, for Pocus?"

Henry smiled. "No, one is enough." When the cat began to stir, Gordon put him back down to let him wander around the house. Pausing, Hocus licked at his paw. Henry watched him, fascinated for a few moments. Letting out a sigh, he turned to look at him. "We can't let him out."

"I know," Gordon commented, "I thought he would complete our little family, fragmented though it is."

Henry drew him in for a kiss. "He has."

XXXXXX

"Come on, Skiff! One more lap!"

Skiff groaned and quickened his stride as he attempted to keep pace with Captain while they ran across the cool beach.

James watched them from behind the guard rail, the setting sun casting his shadow long. A distance off, a private jet plane took off, its jets humming into the distance. He wondered idly when Jeremy would return.

Footsteps sounded, and he turned to see Henry and Rebecca walking toward him. Rebecca was wearing the wool fuchsia-colored skirt he had made for her, its sash trailing. He paused to admire his handiwork. Rebecca was smiling and laughed at a joke from Henry.

"Why is she so skittish?" James had asked one time as he filled his canteen. "She's not going to last long here, if she is."

Emily had one foot propped up on the sill while she tied her bootlace. It had been hot that day, and he'd smelled the sweat rolling off her neck. There was talk of the team receiving cotton uniforms, but the order had yet to be placed. Raising her head, she explained, "Keep this to yourself. You have eyes. You know she's not white."

James nodded, dumping a small amount of the water into his gloved hands, and rubbing it across the back of his neck.

"Her mother was an Australian Aborigine. Her father was white," Emily dropped her booted foot to the ground with a decisive thump. "The man was a pig." She hocked, and, turning her head from him, spat.

Lowering the canteen's strap to rest at his belt, James surmised, "So coming here was her way out of it."

Emily turned back to look at him. "Cut her some slack. Rebecca's far from her birth country and came from a home where her father routinely beat her mother in front of her to teach her 'her rightful place in this world.'" At James's sympathetic expression, Emily held up a hand. "Don't bring it up to her, all right? I only knew about this because she had nightmares over it."

James nodded. "Fair enough."

James leaned back against the rail, one hand hanging backward over it. He wondered if Rebecca continued to face those demons, and for a moment, wanted to tell her that she wasn't alone, and that he could share a thing a or two about his own father. However, he kept silent – she would open her mouth when she was ready.

"Hello, James," she greeted brightly, coming to a stop before him alongside Henry, "Taking in the view?"

"While I still can," James replied with a shrug, "Winter's on its way."

Rebecca shivered at that. "I don't even think the clothing you made for me will be enough."

Henry nudged her playfully. "Come on, Rebecca, what'll a little snow harm?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "You say this to a native of a warmer climate?"

Henry teased, "I think someone like you can handle a challenge? You survived my training regimen, after all."

"Ah yes, the great teacher," James teased, "You truly denote quality about this island, Henry."

"Better than you!" Rebecca replied cheekily.

James placed his hand to his chest in mock shock. "You wound me, madam! You will not find a man more splendid on this island than I!"

Henry and Rebecca glanced at each other and sniggered. Rebecca stepped away from them with a wave. "I'd like to stay and chat, but I'd rather crawl under the warm blankets! Toodles!"

Watching her form recede into nothing, James asked, "You think she's ready for the winter?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Henry replied, folding his arms, "Besides, you had your share of growing pains after you first arrived."

"You're one to talk," James replied, "Got time for a drink?"

Henry shook his head, leaning on the railing. "With Gordon taking the night train, I'll be taking care of Hocus and running a few errands." At James's look of disappointment, he added, "I have a short while to talk here."

"What about, exactly? Friends? Get-togethers? Weddings?" James asked sardonically.

Henry raised an eyebrow. "That is what one does."

James chuckled, and rubbed his hand against the side of his head. "I've become domestic. What an achievement. It used to be worries about making ends meet, among other things."

"Enjoy it for what it's worth, James," Henry replied, "No sense in letting life get away from you."

James thought of Edward, and any regrets that he had over his long life.

Edward, based upon the old pictures he had, was a fox in his young age. If things had been different, he would have seduced Edward before Christopher could have so much as looked at him.

James forced himself to allow the thought to go. It was a fantasy, nothing more and nothing less. That line of thinking was dangerous, in that it wasn't real. If things would have been different, he would have married Edward. If things would have been different, he wouldn't have gotten kicked out. If things would have been different, on, and on, and on it went.

He gripped the crossbar. He was on Sodor, and he was alive. He couldn't legally marry Edward, but Edward had named him his executor. He would be cared for. And he would learn to live with the fact that he eventually lose Edward to old age, though it hurt to even think of it.

"Henry, I have a question," he began, turning to look at him.

"Go ahead," he replied, his hands hanging over the bar.

"When I visited you in the hospital, after the Flying Kipper crashed, I asked you why your family didn't come to see you. What didn't you tell me?" He asked, turning to look at him.

Henry closed his eyes and let out a sigh, as if he had known exactly what James's question was going to be. "I wasn't lying when I said my father died of a broken heart, but I had to be there to watch him die." He swallowed and closed his eyes.

James immediately felt sympathetic and offered to stop Henry. Henry, however, gathered himself and continued, "It's foolish, but at times I still feel as if I've failed him."

"But—"

Henry cut him off with a sharp wave. "Don't. I've heard it multiple times from Gordon. What makes you think that your saying it will be any different?"

James glared at him. "Well, excuse me."

Henry returned it, and then remembered himself. His expression softened, and he explained, "I need to sort this out myself, James, sorry." James frowned at that but didn't push the point.

"James, where did you come from?" Henry asked.

"Yorkshire," he replied quietly.

"I should think that I deserve a better answer than that," Henry commented.

James nodded, and gathered himself. "I will preface it with this: don't tell anyone else. Not even Gordon. Only Edward knows at this point, if you want to be petty about it." Henry agreed, and James turned away from him to stare out at the passing ships as he recounted his past in shorthand format. His home life was summarized as "messy," though he did give the reason why he was eventually thrown out, and his subsequent moves thereafter. Roger was mentioned in passing, and though James didn't see Henry's expression when he told him about his former landlord's mistreatment, he heard his intake of breath. "Hence, it wasn't easy for me the first few years here," he explained.

Turning back, he caught Henry's shocked look. "Had you needed anything, I would have helped."

James shook his head. "I hadn't wanted it. Edward was different."

"How so?"

James folded his arms and leaned back against the fencing. "Because at that point I could fully trust him, more so than I could you and Gordon. I knew that he gave a damn about me, and that also I didn't have to worry as to whether he would tire of me or stick a knife in my back. When Dean Tenpenny said that he would push Edward into the smelter, too, I believed him." He lowered his head, "Foolish, I know, but in the moment, I took him at his word." He gathered himself. "Then Junior pulled me back from it, and I forced him to jump with me out of the cab. Right after I hit the gravel, I realized that the engine's loss wasn't important; I wasn't living for it anymore. Throughout my life, I thought that the world owed me something. I deserved better because I went through my own suffering. But," he raised his head to look at Henry, "the truth of the matter is that the world doesn't. It also doesn't very well care."

Henry said nothing this time but met James's gaze with a knowing look. James was the first to blink. "I don't want to be alone again," James said quietly.

"I know," Henry replied sympathetically as the sun sank beneath the horizon.

XXXXXX

"Ed, I'm home," James called out, locking the door behind him. When he received no response, he called questioningly, "Ed?"

A low snoring greeted him, and James curiously continued into the townhouse to look through the parlor doorway.

Edward was asleep on the couch, an open book lying on the floor. Soft music was playing from the radio on the shelf above the gilded photo. James was cross for a moment that it meant that food wasn't going to be ready for him, but he let it go. Edward looked so tired, lying there.

Reaching out, he gently shook his shoulder.

"James?" Edward asked, blinking blearily, "Oh, I'm sorry! I was going to get dinner ready!"

James smiled. "It can wait for a little while."

Edward slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes. "My, my, I was going to get so few many things done today, and all I did was sleep. I must be becoming lazy." Pushing himself off the couch, he stood.

"Here," James drew Edward to himself.

"James, what is this?" Edward asked, confused as James began to sway.

James chuckled. "We have to make that practice dancing come to something, don't we?"

Edward glanced up at him in surprise before settling against him. He gasped as he nearly stepped on James's foot.

"It's all right," James said, "I've got you."

Edward smiled, and kissed his shoulder, his hand moving over James's back to rest between his shoulder blades. James relaxed against his hand and felt a sense of belonging. Whatever faults Edward had, he knew that he couldn't deny that warmth.

Edward's steps were a bit stuttering, leaving James to gently lead him in the correct manner.

James pressed his cheek against the side of Edward's head, and nuzzled against it as the music continued to play. They swayed gently. James knew that he was not completely satisfied with his life, such as it was, but it was enough.

When he thought of his father's harsh words to him, all those years ago, cursing him to die a pool of his own vomit, James gently drew out, and brought Edward's chin up.

"Is there something wrong?" Edward asked in confusion.

James responded by kissing him on the forehead and holding him close to himself. To him, Edward was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this to Sabbat Spiral, who I thank for many of the ideas presented in this, and Shiny. You will be missed from the fandom, Shiny. Fanfic was inspired by "Blue Collar Man" by Styx. 
> 
> Coda: There are a few things I wanted to address for when it comes to a few of these characters' futures. While it is tempting to go on, James's arc has ended, therefore the next story would not feature him as prominently.
> 
> Edward's health did decline in his late 70's, which led to him having to retire from the railway. His letter did reach Donald, and Donald helped a stressed James care for Edward as his health continued to decline.
> 
> Edward passed away in James's arms, and Donald watched over a mournful James – it was as if a part of him had died with Edward. James slowly became closer with Donald, and eventually began a relationship with him. James, while remaining the black sheep of his family, died in bed with Donald holding his hand, in defiance of Mr. Frost's prediction. After seeing to it that James was buried alongside Edward, as Edward had purchased a plot for James, Donald returned to Scotland, taking a lock of James's hair with him. His efforts against the separatists yielded little, and in the modern era, Sodor's personal sovereignty is still a wobbly issue.
> 
> Thomas and Molly did marry, and had a daughter, Wendy. However, Thomas contracted HIV due to a contaminated blood transfusion during a surgery in the 1980's. It was then transmitted to Molly via intercourse. They both passed away when Wendy was a teenager, bequeathing everything to her. Percy, her godfather, watched over her. Toby and Henrietta lived out the remainder of their years on Sodor together in relative peace.
> 
> Henry, as a result of smoking in his younger years, passed away in his late 70's from COPD. Scott had died from emphysema a few years prior. Grief-stricken, and feeling utterly alone, Gordon took his own life. Emily and Mavis died during the AIDS epidemic as a result of blood contamination – Emily from sharing a razor with her cousin, and Mavis from cutting her hand on a contaminated piece of metal.
> 
> Diesel was eventually sacked due to continuing to harass Oliver and making life generally miserable for his co-workers. Oliver later moved in with Duck and lived out a quiet existence with him. Nia returned to Kenya and died of old age. She had many grandchildren, but never found out what became of her mother, siblings, or extended family.
> 
> Douglas and Rosie married, but they experienced a near miss. While Rosie was visiting Rebecca, a separatist threw a Molotov cocktail through a window. Rosie and Rebecca managed to escape, but both suffered severe burns that forced them to retire from driving early. Douglas, having had enough, moved Rosie back to Scotland with him. He, along with Donald, was fined for stealing his engine, but suffered no further charges. Rebecca, after undergoing years of physical therapy, returned to the NWR as a railway historian. She wrote a few books about Sodor's railways, the last of which was published posthumously after she passed away from a stroke. All were dedicated to Emily and Henry, as well as her late mother.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have an excuse at this point, do I?
> 
> So originally, this was something I was going to write for fun as a last hurrah, with Edward and James trying out a few things in the bedroom that did and did not work out. It would have been an AO3 exclusive that turned into this. After this, I'm done, giving the production this has turned into. This fic will be a bit different. Time will move about, with some sequences that take place in the past in order to explore James's backstory. His backstory portions will be after different present day sequences that relate, somewhat, to the scene of the past. Not all sequences will have him in them. James's mother is not, and has not been, sexually abusing him. She is, however, disrespecting him by treating him like an object. OC's ahoy in this.
> 
> This being an AU, the time lines of the characters appearing are meshed. Hiro is implied in this to have always been employed on Sodor (because frankly, leaving a train to just sit there and rust for years is ridiculous) and working "off-screen" during the first few years of the main team's employment. Similarly, Emily, Nia, and Rebecca are around during my nod to the events of The Magic Railroad. Rebecca and Nia are not replacing Henry and Edward - they are teaching them to better work on the team. Percy's encounter with Dean Tenpenny (Diesel 10) is from "Steam and Shadows." Burnett in this is Lady's fireman, Tasha is still alive, and Lily is their daughter.
> 
> "Sir Handel" is the call sign on the radio of his driver, since the name does not translate. Family chart goes: Duke (grandfather), Falcon (call sign - son) and Stewart (son), Sir Handel (call sign - grandson) and Peter Sam (grandson). The "piano on fire" is a reference to an anecdote I had heard from a party several years ago.
> 
> Cut version will be on Fanfiction.Net, deviantart, and Tumblr. Additional note: explicit scene between Gordon and Henry is back up (albeit rewritten from scratch). Thank you for being patient with me.


End file.
